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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 

Jase£S£sse essas9©98ee985£ese5 



YOUTH, 



SCENES FROM THE PAST 



AND OTHER 



POEMS 



y 



By WILLIAM PLUMER, Jr. 



$ 



Turning th 7 accomplishment of many years 
Into an hour-glass. shaksPeare. 



BOSTON : 

CHARLES C. LITTLE AND JAMES BROWN. 

MDCCCXLI. 




1883 



^WM®&$ 



^1 



Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 184-1, by 

William Plumer, jr., 
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of 
New-Hampshire. 



FRANCIS GRANT S 

C. Norris, Pi 



PREFACE 



The poems arranged, in this volume, under the ti- 
tle of Youth, or Scenes from the Past, are so far 
connected with each other, that they all relate, more 
or less directly, to thoughts, feelings, or events, per- 
sonal to the author. His aim has been to make each 
sonnet, or short poem, complete in itself; yet so to 
construct the whole that, when combined, they should 
fall naturally into one connected series. This series, 
if finished according to the original design, would 
form three separate Parts ; corresponding to the nati. 
ral division of human life into Youth, Manhood, and 
Age. The first Part only, — which traces the devel- 
opement of the mental and bodily powers, in the stud- 
ies and amusements of Youth, — is here presented to 
the reader. It is complete in itself, and has no neces- 
sary connexion with the two remaining Parts. 



IV PREFACE. 

In giving this attempt to delineate life and character 
so much of a personal application, the author has 
been influenced, in part, at least, by a distrust of his 
ability to treat the subject in a more comprehensive 
manner. It seemed to him that he could best describe 
what he most deeply felt. His subject being Life, — 
the life of man, — he has endeavoured, instead of 
treating it in the abstract, to exhibit what appeared to 
him most likely to interest the general reader, in a 
single life ; and that life, the one with which he was 
himself best acquainted. This explanation will, it is 
hoped, free him from the charge of egotism, to which 
he might otherwise be exposed, by showing that the 
work took the form of personal narrative, so far as that 
form is adopted, under the influence of feelings the 
reverse of vanity or presumption. If it abounds in 
individual traits and local allusions, it is because the 
author felt himself most at ease in his native haunts, 
and among the friends and companions of his early 
years. If he failed to make these interesting, he could 
hardly hope for more success in a wider field. 

In poems, intended to represent the changing hues 
of sentiment and opinion, in the successive stages of 
life, the reader will not be surprised to find some real, 
and many apparent discrepancies of thought and feel- 



PREFACE. V 

ing. The author's general views and sentiments will 
hardly be mistaken ; and the varying aspects of truth, — 
or, what, at times, may appear as such, — could not 
be reproduced by him, with the requisite force and 
liveliness, without assuming (for the occasion) as just 
and real, the feeling or the opinion, which it was in- 
tended to represent or express. Some of these op- 
posite presentations are not so much contradictions of 
opinion, as antagnoist modes of thought and action ; — 
each true, within certain limits, and neither complete, 
without its accompanying counterpart. It will readily 
be believed that, in these delineations, the author has 
not felt himself bound, in all cases, like a witness on 
the stand, to the literal truth of facts ; but that, while 
aiming always at the truth of nature, he has not scrup- 
led, — veris miscens falsa, — to supply, occasionally, 
such poetical embellishments as his subject seemed to 
invite or require. Under this saving clause of fiction, 
the reader is at liberty to arrange whatever he finds 
improbable in these sketches, or offensive to his better 
judgment. 

The mottoes are intended, — some of them, to ex- 
press thoughts or sentiments, which the author could 
not so well convey in his own language, — and others 
to exhibit, under a different form, or with additional 
1* 



VI PREFACE. 

circumstances, the leading idea of the poem to which 
they are prefixed. In either case, if the reader finds 
his imagination excited, or his reflections deepened, 
by the truth, or the fancy of the motto, he will, per- 
haps, be the more inclined to look with kindness, on 
the stranger who comes introduced to him, by an old 
friend, in this new connexion. The labour of select- 
ing these mottoes has tempted the author, in some ca- 
ses, to write what he could not so readily find ; and 
this, as the easier task, would have been oftener done, 
if he had not aimed, in this part of his work, at great- 
er variety, as well as excellence, than his own verse? 
were likely to supply. 

Epping, N. H. November 2. 1841. 



CONTENTS 



Preface 



Page. 
Ill 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



BOOK I 



Dedication 






13 


Introduction . 






15 


Infancy 






17 


Sincerity 






18 


Early Impressions 






19 


Imagination 






20 


My Mother 






22 


The Love of Nature . 






23 


My Native Place 






26 


Leaving Home for School 






26 


The Boy Tyrant 






28 


The Latin Grammar . 






28 


End of the Term 






29 


Vacation 






30 


The Play Ground 






30 


The Swimmer 






31 


The Snow Fort 






32 


Skating 






32 


The Swamscot 






34 



VIII 



CONTENTS. 



Improvement . 

Study 

The Languages 

History 

Politics 

Dinah 

Love 

School-boy Passion 

Ambition 

Farewell to Exeter 

The Abbot Jubilee 



BOOK II. 



Entering College 

The Freshman 

First Visit to the Theatre 

Indolence 

Contemplation 

Ambition 

Devotion 

The Sophomore 

On Horseback 

The Unknown Beauty 

The Sleigh Ride 

The Dance 

Dissipation 

Vice 

Excitement 

The Junior 

Influence of Mind on Matter 



CONTENTS. 



The Beautiful 

The Beauty of Holiness 

The Truth of Nature 

Music 

Sculpture 

Painting 

Morning Walk 

Evening Walk 

Walk in Winter 

The Ocean 

The White Hills 

The Mountain Streams 



BOOK HI 



The Senior 

Design and Execution 

Poetic Feelings 

Benefactions of Genius 

The Prophets 

Milton 

Homer 

Tasso 

Shakspeare 

Pope . 

Poetic Inspiration 

Free Inquiry 

Doubt 

The Birth of Truth 

Metaphysics 

Original Genius 



X CONTENTS. 




Imitation .... 


Page 
108 


Moral Truth .... 


108 


Duty .... 


110 


Conscience .... 


110 


Virtue .... 


113 


Knowledge 


114 


My Chum . • 


115 


College Friendships 


116 


The Farewell 


117 


The Departure 


120 


The Centennial Celebration : 


121 


Conclusion . • . . ._ 


124 



OTHER P O E M S. 



King Philip - 


- 


- 127 


Love and Glory 


- 


- 131 


The Coquette Distressed 


- 


- 133 


Henry and Ellen 


- 


- 134 


Henry 


- 


135 


Ellen 


„ 


- 136 


First Week in June 


- 


- 138 


Conjunction of Venus wil 


h the Moon 


- 140 


The Red Oak 


- 


- 140 


Notes 


- 


- 143 



■ar © isr ffi m 9 



s®&m®8 smesss rum 2&&sras 



A SERIES OF POEMS. 



It is the voice of years that are gone ! 
They roll before me, with all their deeds 

OSSIAN. 



DEDICATION 



HON. FRANCIS C. GRAY, 



Classmate and friend ! if haply, in these lays, 
Thine eye discern the forms that yet remain 
Of years long past, — youth's pleasure and its pain, 

Its hopes, fears, studies, — thine applause repays 
Largely the poet's labour : so he gain 
Thy kind approval of his humble strain, 

He heeds not, then, the cold indifferent gaze 
Of distant strangers. Feelings that outlive 

Long absence, toil, and strife, mid haunts of men, 
Still to this breast their youthful ardour give, 

By time unchanged. Accept his offering then, 
Who seeks not now vain blazon of renown ; 

So health be his and leisure, book and pen, 

And friendship's generous wreath his brows to crown. 

2 



YOUTH 



SSIlEriES QPSdNEK WHIffl DPABW3 



A SERIES OF POEMS. 



INTRODUCTION. 

My sun is past its zenith ; and the blaze, 

That burned so brightly in youth's glowing skies, 
Is tempered now, by swelling clouds that rise, 

In life's decline, to shade his parting rays. 

What marvel if, at times, remembrance strays 
Back to those scenes, whose living image lies, 
Mid dews of morn and bloom that never dies, 

In sunshine pure of life's first balmy days. 

Youth — childhood — infancy — before my sight 
Successive rise, in colours clear as bright ; 

Thence ripening into manhood's sober hues, 
Come milder forms, whose mellow tints presage, 
Not undesired, those softening shades of age, 

Which closing day must o'er the scene diffuse. 



CONTENTS. 

Infancy — Sincerity— Early Impressions — Imagination — My Mother — 
The Love of Nature — My Native Place — Leaving Home for School — 
The boy Tyrant — The Latin Grammar — End of the Term — Vacation — 
The Play Ground— The Swimmer— The Snow Fort— Skating — The 
Swamscot— Improvement — Study — The Languages — History — Politics 
— Dinah — Love — Schoolboy Passion — Ambition — Farewell to Exeter 
—The Abbot Jubilee. 



^©U^SJ 



SCENES FROM THE PAST 



BOOK FIRST. 



INFANCY. 



I. 



Visions of childhood ! oft have ye beguiled 
Lone manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs. 

COLERIDGE. 

Fain would my wandering steps retrace the stream 
Back to its source, and, at the fountain, see 
The springs of life, in hours of infancy, 

And childhood's joys. Scarce memory can redeem, 

From time, faint glimpses of that early dream, 
When young existence, full of life and glee, 
Mid sounds of gladness on the parent's knee, 

From kindred looks saw joy's bright image beam ; 
The father's love, the mother's fond caress, 
With smiles repaid of infant happiness. 

The simplest toy could rapture then supply; 
Bell, ring, or whistle, ball or top, each threw 

Its charm alike, on ravished ear or eye, 

Where all seemed beautiful, for all was new. 
2* 



18 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

II. 

His brow is bright with gleams of thought, 

Not yet by care invaded : 
To him, not yet, hath nature taught 

Those truths, by sorrow shaded, 
That come too soon, the breast to wring 
With love's regret, and envy's sting. 

Yes, all is beautiful, while all is new ; 
Ere dull satiety comes in, to cloy 
Each fresh enjoyment of the ardent boy, 

Or cloud, with time's disgust, his sated view. 

With hopes still buoyant, feelings warm as true, 
Mere novelty can now each sense employ, 
And new-born wonder every scene enjoy, 

With warmth of love, no time can e'er renew. 
Who would not live again those days of youth, 
Of simple pleasures and confiding truth, 

When, each disguise of later years unknown, 
Our words are deeds ; and every rising thought, 
To nature true, is into action wrought, — 

Pleasure our aim, but truth our guide alone. 



SINCERITY. 



The heart's light laugh pursues the circling jest, 
And all is sunshine in each little breast ! 

ROGERS. 

Observe yon children playing, and behold 

What trifles please — how roused by word, or smile, 
By mimic gesture, harmless prank, or wile, 

In gay good humour acted ! Though the old 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 19 

Too oft with scorn regard them, these take hold 

Of youthful fancies, and young hearts beguile 
With pleasure, springing fresh from sympathy. 

'Tis this which gives in youth each word and sign 
Its lively import, — where the child can see 
Truth in each thought and movement, — nature free 

From fraudful art, and harbouring no design 
Oblique. While age, mistrustful, seeks to find, 
In fairest deeds, some bias of the mind, 

Fond youth, undoubting, knows not to refine. 



EARLY IMPRESSIONS. 
I. 

Wax to receive, and marble to retain. BYROtf. 

Thoughts that survive to life's remotest hour, 
Their impulse oft from early childhood bring : 
Like swelling streams, from slender rills that spring 

Mid sylvan solitudes, whose shades o'ertower 

Those infant waters in their cradling bower. 
I can remount, on memory's faithful wing, 
. To trains of early thought, whose tendrils cling 

To manhood's growth, with still increasing power ; 
Habits of mind, and modes of thought imprest, 
In youthful ardour, on the pliant breast ; 

Thy subtle folds, Opinion ! round me cast, 
For good or ill, ere reason yet could guide, 

Or slow experience, pondering on the past, 
Its sage monitions for my use provide. 



20 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

II. 

The oak, whose branches shelter now the herd, 
Was once an acorn ,; and its gnarled trunk, 
That shook, a sapling, in the summer breeze, 
Defies, full grown, the tempest's angry sweep. 

Who has not felt how growing habits cast 

Their slight but binding chains round opening life ! 

Each link a pigmy thread, yet holding fast 

The sleeping Gulliver ! "What toil, what strife, 

What effort now, to burst from bonds away, 
That once seemed slender as the filmy slime 
Arachne weaves — till hardening fast with time, 

The chain grows adamant, and binds, today, 

The heart that scorned, so late, the passion's sway, 
As powerless then. Youth's ductile gold, enchased 

By virtue's guiding hand, is shaped with ease 

To use and beauty ; but, intent to please, 
If folly's legend round the gold be traced, 
It hardens into vice, by crime debased. 



IMAGINATION. 



I. 

There is a pleasure in it : 
Yea, when the cold blood shoots through every vein, 
There is a joy in fear. baillie. 

Early impressions, on the youthful mind 
Take firmest hold, by fear on fancy bred : 
My childhood heard, with mingled joy and dread. 

Of ghost and goblin dire, — the power combined 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 21 

Of evil men with evil spirits joined ; 
Of blood of innocence, in secret shed, 
By ruffian stealing to the peaceful bed ; 

The poisoned cup ; the death blow dealt behind ; 
Each thrilling tale of strange mysterious power ; 
Sights dimly seen, at midnight's witching hour, 

And sounds unearthly, heard in caverns lone ; 
Till fond credulity received with awe, 
As truths undoubted, all that fancy saw, 

Or fear imagined, of the world unknown. 



II. 



The paths of error, winding though they seem, 
Conduct, — not seldom, — to the house of truth ; 
And oft can fiction, in wild fancy's sport, 
Flash light, where reason pours a feebler ray. 

Nor vain such tales of wonder, — since they bring, 

Early and strongly, to the opening mind, 

Views of futurity, and help unbind 
Those clogs of earthly sense, that heavy cling 

To soaring thought. The mind that scorns, in youth, 
The world of spirits, proud, in age, will fling 

All reverence by, — unmindful of the truth, 
Deepest and best assured, that fancy's wing 

Must imp the flight of reason, ere on high 
She spread her heaven-ward pinion — else to dwell, 
Cold, heartless, sneering, in the skeptic's cell. 

Faith, feeling, fancy, each must aid supply 

To reasons powers, which else, in vain would try 
Man's doubts to solve, his boding fears to quell, 



22 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

MY MOTHER. 
I. 

My eyes are dim with childish tears, 
My heart is inly stirred 3 
Those sounds of love are in my ears, 
That first my childhood heard. 

Altered from Wordsworth. 

My mother ! how can I repay the debt 

My whole life owes thee — thine assiduous care, 
That watched, ere yet I breathed this vital air, 

And still, unwearied, knows not to forget 

Its wonted kindness. Memory values yet, 
As first and choicest, mid her treasures fair, 
That fond maternal wisdom, rich as rare, 

Which all my wants with kind prevention met. 
Fountain of life ! from thee my young lips drew 
Those streams of kindly nurture, which imbue 

Man's rugged nature, savage else and vile, 
With female softness ; tempering heart and brain 
With mild yet lofty virtues, taught in vain 

By ought less holy than a mother's smile, 



II. 



" He knew no mother's care/' Oh pardon then 
His folly, or his guilt, — if he should prove 
Vicious alike as wretched. 

Oft, when my sports (as youth is thoughtless still) 
Grew harsh or cruel, mildly hast thou said, 

Seek not, my son ! thy cup of joy to fill 
From others' suffering : evil on the head 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 23 

Of evil doers will her vials shed 
Of ten fold vengeance on the vicious will ; 

Then be not cruel ; nor, with wanton tread, 
Crush needlessly the worm beneath thy feet : 

Yet be not thence effeminate ; nor dread, 
When duty calls, rejoicingly to meet 

Toil, suffering, danger, in each generous cause, 

Thy God's, thy friends, thy country's and her laws ; 
So shalt thou find e'en painful duty sweet, 

Tempered by love and crowned with just applause. 



THE LOVE OF NATURE. 
I. 

What calPst thou solitude ? Is not the earth 
With various living creatures, and the air 
Replenished, — and all these at thy command, 
To come and play before thee 1 Milton. 

I can remember, ere my years had told 
Their second lustre, how I loved to be 
Alone among the woods ; to wander free 

Beside the neighbouring streamlet, and behold 

The small fish darting, where the waters rolled 
Above the smooth worn stones ; to stand and see 
The lively squirrel, on the broad beach tree, 

Rattling the nuts down, chittering to his mate, 
Or bounding, bird-like, onward; then to chase 
The gaudy butterfly ; or pause and trace 

The ant-hill's busy tribe, its ordered state, 
And well ranked industry ; an idler I, 
Yet busy as the blackbird chattering by, 

And heedless of returning soon or late. 



24 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



II. 



How lonesome ! how wild ! yet the wildness is rife 
With the stir of enjoyment, the spirit of" life. 

WILSON. 



Chide not my wanderings, mother ! nor believe 
That danger waits me here ; the dreaded snake 
Flies from me harmless, harbouring in the brake 

The stream is shallow, where the fish receive 
The crumbs I throw them ; 'tis a merry sight 
To see them leap thus sudden into light, 

Then sink as soon : the woodpecker hard by 
Taps on the tree, unheeding ; redbreast takes 
The food I give him, nor my side forsakes, 

So well he knows me ! but in vain I try 

To win upon the partridge ; wild and shy 
I hear her drumming on the fallen tree, 
Remote, unsocial : well, the bird is free, 

And loves the covert — so in truth do I. 



III. 



Flowers worthy Paradise, which not nice Art, 
In beds and curious knots, but Nature boon 
Pours forth profuse. milton. 



No spot so distant, in this spacious vale, 
But I had won it, — whether hill or plain, 
Forest or cultured field, — intent to gain 
Aquaintance with each flower that doth inhale 
The breath of morn, or lurk in sheltered dale, 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 25 

Rock-side, or margin of the winding brook. 

Eager I sought where earliest blossoms grew, 
Of liver-leaf and columbine, each nook, 

Where sweetest scented, in the morning dew, 
The Azalea, May Flower, Lily of the Vale, 
The Eglantine, and Pancy, on the gale 

Their bloom and fragrance, all unheeded, threw. 
Thus lone, yet happy, passed each busy hour, 
Gay as the bird, expanding like the flower. 



IV. 



They had been playmates in their infancy 5 
And she in all his thoughts had borne a part, 
And all his joys. southey. 



Nurtured in solitude, this feeling grew 

A sense, a passion, a reflective joy, 

Ingrained, or native, e'en while yet a boy ; 
And still, in age, survives, unchanged as true. 

Half murmuring to myself, or wandering oft, 
In social silence pleased, afar I strayed, 
Sister ! with thee, in rapture through the glade, 

Too happy for discourse ! Pervading soft, 
Resistless though unseen, the gentle force 
Of genial nature guided still our course : 

Bird, beast, field, forest, summer shower, or wind, 
Hill, valley, streamlet, to the softened breast 
Gould each, in turn, enduring thoughts suggest, 

And mould, with plastic power, the yielding mind. 
3 



26 SCENES FROM THE PAST, 



MY NATIVE PLACE. 

Sweet interchange 
Of hill, and valley, river, woods, and plains. milton. 

What wonder if the love of nature then 

Was strong within me ; e'en from childhood's dawn ; 
Ere yet I mingled with the herd of men, 

Or wandered, from my native vale withdrawn. 
The genius of this quiet spot serene 

Wrought on my heart, and sways its movements still : 

The gentle curvature of yonder hill, 
Clothed to its cultured top with living green, 

The river's steady flow, the clattering mill, 
Yon blue-topped mountain, far and faintly seen, 
With wooded hills, and verdant vales between, 

The farm-house's busy group, yon winding rill, 
Each on my infant mind left lasting trace, 
Heart bound, and wedded to my native place. 



LEAVING HOME FOR SCHOOL. 



I. 



And then the whining school boy, with his satchel, 
And shining morning face, creeping, like snail, 
Unwillingly to school ! shakspeare. 

The loss of home, — how poignant was the grief, 
When, from the parent roof constrained to part, 
Its bitter pang transfixed my youthful heart ! 

The world's cold kindness gave not then relief, 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 27 

But sickened rather. Oft the tear would start, 
Unbidden, while the dear domestic scene 
Rose on my view, with bitter thoughts between : 

But then, with scornful laugh, came one, who, young 
Yet early hardened, could such pain deride, 

And taunt my weakness with sarcastic tongue, 
That shamed, at once, and roused me : manly pride 
And just resentment dashed the tear aside ; 

Yet could not long the rising grief o'rrule, 

Home sick, heart riven, by that first week at school. 



II. 



Shades of the prison house begin to close 
Upon the growing boy. Wordsworth. 



Possessions that, while held, are, in our eyes, 
Deemed little worth, to tenfold value rise, 

When held no more. 'Tis thus, in nightly dream. 
My home sick fancy revels mid the joys 
Of untasked youth, and sports of happy boys. 

Night still restores me to my native stream, 
An infant architect, where oft my hand 
The mud-dam built, or water wheel had planned ; 

Or, panting from the summer's sultry beam, 
Framed leafy arbours in the secret dell, 

Or chambers hollowed in the yielding sand ; 
Of these more proud than, since, in larger scheme 

Of later life : can vaunting manhood tell 

Why better worth, since ne'er enjoyed so well 1 



28 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



THE BOY TYRANT. 



See how he beats, whom he has just reviled, 

And made rebellious, that imploring child. crab BE. 



Among my early inmates there was one, 
The scorn alike and terror of the school ; 
Subtle, unfeeling, in his malice cool, 

And patient in revenge, no favours done 

Moved his base soul, or e'er to kindness won. 
Fearless as false, he aims alike to rule 
By force and fraud : each idler is his tool, 

The timid fear him, and the prudent shun. 
In vice unwearied, 'tis his daily joy 

To gull the ignorant, the good betray ; 
But chief, the sensitive and tender boy, 

Now to his arts, to lure, un wares, astray; 
Then turn informer, and his dupe defame, 
Himself unharmed, and glorying in his shame. 



THE LATIN GRAMMAR. 

The drilled dull lesson, forced down, word by word. byron. 

The Latin Grammar — can I think again, 
In patience, on that sickness of the heart, 
When words of uncouth sound and rules of art, 
To me unmeaning, as replete with pain, 
Sought entrance first on my reluctant brain, 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 29 

Till then indulged, I ne'er had known the smart 
Of task enforced : my memory could retain 
The hymn, or prayer, or ballad's simple strain, 

Caught from those lips maternal, which impart 
Knowledge at once and pleasure, eye and ear 
To that mild teacher open still and clear ; 

But closed on him who seemed not to discern 
How kindness quickens, while disgust and fear 

Palsy the mind, which ceases thence to learn. 



END OF THE TERM. 



In thoughtless gaiety, I course the plain, 
And Hope itself is all I know of Pain. 

WORDSWORTH. 



The term is ended ! what more grateful sound 
To mortal ears ! to toil-worn judge sedate, 
To weary lawyer, doomed on courts to wait, 

And client, not less wearied, who has found 

His endless law-suit, for a rood of ground, 
Engulfing acres ! Welcome is the date, 
That turns the 'prentice from his master's gate, 

Or sees the minor with full freedom crowned. 
But nor to minor, swelling with the pride 
Of coming freedom ; not when courts decide, 

Or jurors can agree ; not from the bar 
When learned counsel hasten, is their joy 
Like his, the rapture of that term-worn boy, 

Released, and journeying to his home afar. 
3* 



30 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



VACATION. 



All now is confidence 7 the fresh o'erflow 
Of hearts, that feel, the transport, they bestow : 
And then how pleasant all old haunts to view, 
Each comrade greet, and former loves renew ! 



Warm is the welcome from each well known face, 

That smiles beneath that old paternal roof: 

And manifold, as tender, is the proof 
Of interest, that each inmate of the place 
Feels in me still, while all, with wonder, trace 

Each change, in form or manner, time has wrought, 
Since last we parted. In that warm embrace, 
The charities of home and kindred race 

Revive once more, with tenfold pleasure fraught. 

But ah ! how brief that pleasure — soon the thought 
Of parting grieves : yet transient is that pain, 
The first home sickness never comes again ; 

Or comes, so softened, that the pensive grief 

Yields pleasure, rather than demands relief. 



THE PLAY GROUND. 



Fearless they leap, and every youngster feels 

His Alma active in his hands and heels. crabbe. 



The sports of youth, and all the youthful train, 
Each dear familiar object, to my sight 
Returns, renewed, in all its old delight, 

As through these haunts, with mingled joy and pain. 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 31 

I roam once more, they all are here again, 

Each spot so loved of yore ; with dexterous sleight, 

The marble glancing to its destined aim, 

The kite, the cricket, and the hardier game 
Of foot ball, bounding o'er the trampled plain ; 

The glowing brow, flushed cheek, and eye of flame, 
The toil to win, the effort to retain : 

And lo ! yon youth, another, yet the same, 
My boy, — with foot as restless in the chase, 
As erst his sire's, when foremost in the race. 



THE SWIMMER. 



Flinging the billows back from my drenched hair, 
And laughing from my lips the audacious brine ! 
BYRON. 



The glowing fervours of the summer sun 

Make grateful now the stream, wherein to lave 
Our languid limbs, and sport along the wave. 

And see yon tender stripling, who hath run 

In haste, yet pauses ere the feat be done : 
Lingering yet longing, fearful and yet brave, 
He plunges headlong to the Nereid cave, 

Emerging soon, with spoils from Neptune won. 
See too yon puny Cassius* of the tide 
His Caesar daring through the waves to glide, 

For yonder point, that distant lures the eye. 
The stream they buffet now, with manly pride, 
And lusty sinews, throwing it aside, 

With hearts of controversy, beating high ! 
* Julius Ceesar, Act I, Scene II. 



32 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



THE SNOW FORT. 

Their sinews grow 
Firm mid the gladness of heroic sports. talfourd. 

Nor less our winter joys ; 'tis now the time 
For strenuous action : on each adverse height 
The snow built fort provokes the hardy fight. 

By numbers guarded, yet can courage climb 
The steep ascent ; while passions, that incite 
Man's later years to virtue's daring flight, 

Here spring to life, in strength of youthful prime. 
Ambition, valour, hope's aspiring aim, 
Contempt of danger, generous thirst for fame, 

Give strength to fragile limbs ; and force impart 
Of manly daring to youth's slender frame. 

Conduct is here might grace the soldier's art, 
Or statesman's policy; their hopes the same, 
In manhood's toils, and youth's adventurous game. 



SKATING. 



They ask no other gem, nor wealth, 

Save nature's gifts of youth and health. bvron. 



'Tis evening, and the winter's sky is fair ; 
Away with books then, and the musty rules 
Of solemn pedants in their pent up schools ! 

While sloth lies slumbering on his easy chair, 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 33 

Our young limbs, hardened by the frosty air, 
Are strung for pleasure ; as, with eager cry, 

Pursuing and pursued, we mock at care, 

Our sharp skates hissing o'er the icy glare. 
Yon pool is open, but our thoughts defy 

Its crackling ice ; as wheeling swift we dare 
Its verge approach, and blindly rush to try 

Who first may nearest reach, who best compare 
In rival rashness : sport with danger joined, 
What charm more potent for youth's fearless mind ! 



II. 



In little bosoms such achievements strike 
A kindred spark ; they burn to do the like. 



Hark to the shout, the challenge, the reply ! 

The goal is yonder headland, far away : 

What miles are traversed in the nimble play 
Of youthful limbs ; while hot blood mounts on high, 
Warm hearts beat quick, as, sweeping swiftly by, 

We onward press, impatient of delay : 
Nor pause we now, in pity for the fall 
Of luckless comrade, passed alike by all 

With peals of merry laugh, that rend the skies. 

Up, and away ; thou yet may'st win the prize, 
If hope desert not, nor base fear appal ; 

Then up, and on — But hark ! with accent clear, 

Yon bell, loud sounding, checks our fleet career, 
And home we turn, obedient to its call. 



34 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



THE SWAMSCOT. 



Now reigns 
Full orbed the Moon, and with more pleasing light 
Shadowy sets forth the face of things 5 in vain, 
If none regard. milton. 



Frost bound river ! o'er thy face, 
Clear as crystal, while I glide, 

And along thy smooth ice trace 
Mazy windings far and wide, 

Joy's wild impulse swells the force 

That propels my onward course. 

Care has dogged my steps all day, 
Study worn my spirits down ; 

But from care I flee away, 

And in transport study drown : 

Fleeter than the rushing wind 

I have left their trace behind. 

Lone I rove, yet not alone ; 

Snow clad hill and silent wood, 
Spire and dome, now hid, now shown, 

Creaking ice, and roaring flood, 
Skies that sparkle, stars that burn — 
These are mine, where'er I turn. 

Burning cheek, and flashing eye, 
Quickened breath, and pulses wild ; 

Rapture, ending in a sigh, 

Pain with pleasure reconciled — 



SCENES PROM THE PAST. 35 

Blend, with strange mysterious power, 
In the transport of this hour. 

But such rapture will not last : 

Milder joys are flowing in, 
Calmer thoughts returning fast ; 

While, above earth's stir and din, 
Heaven seems shedding, from the pole, 
Starry influence on the soul. 

Lights are round me, clear reflected 

From the glittering hosts on high ; 
At my feet their rays collected 

In this mimic nether sky ; 
While afar, on evening's brow, 
Dian's crest hangs sparkling now. 

Fast and far I sweep along ; 

Faster far can fancy stray, 
Borne on pinions swift as strong ; 

Till, above yon milky way, 
Wide expanding thought would soar, 
Man and nature to explore. 

Whence this strange mysterious being, 

Riddle of the wondering world ? 
Eyes, now blind, and now far-seeing, 

Thoughts now clear, now madly hurled, 
In confusion vast as vain, 
Through this vortex of the brain. 

Hopes that fire, and fears that chill, 
Grief with pleasure, joy with pain, 



36 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

Good that alternates with ill, 

Restless thoughts and wishes vain, 
Here too little, there too much ; 
Such is life, its impulse such. 

Would these steel-shod feet could rise, 
Swifter far than here they move, 

Winning way, o'er crystal skies, 
To the source of truth above : 

Then might wandering reason know 

Whence this joy, this doubt, this wo. 

Vain the wish ; as vain to send 

Anxious thought o'er land and sea : 

Wiser far the hour to spend 
In rejoicing revelry ; 

Happier sure, if youth allow 

Joy's bright cup to sparkle now. 

Why o'ershadow present bliss, 
With forebodings sad as strange ; 

Or imbitter hours like this, 

With dark dreams of future change ? 

Ills to come may age annoy, 

Youth but asks for present joy : 

Joy like mine, while, sweeping by, 
Rapture swells each thrilling nerve. 

Not yon bird can swifter fly, 
Lighter move, or truer swerve, 

Or in gayer transports fling 

Mirth in music from his wing. 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 37 

Light, and warbling, like that bird, 

Joy inspires my every thought ; 
Nerves high strung, and feelings stirred, 

Health from northern breezes caught, 
These are mine, where'er I stray, 
Swamscot ! o'er thine ice bound way. 



IMPROVEMENT. 



For nature, crescent, doth not grow alone 
In thews and bulk ; but as this temple waxes, 
The inward service of the mind and soul 
Grows wide withal. shakspeare. 



How heedless is the school boy ! yet how fraught 
With deep instruction ! heedless in the joy 
That comes too fast, his eager hopes to cloy, 

Or fears excite ; yet filled with earnest thought 

And just reflection ; truths by nature taught, 
That new as strange, with ever fresh delight 
His growing powers to welcome toil invite. 

What change in form and look, unknown before, 
In tone and gesture, manners, in the glance 
Of sparkling eyes, that beam intelligence ! 

Much hath the school room taught him, but far more 
His youthful playmates ; rich in free exchange 
Of teeming fancies, wild at will to range, 

Unchecked, through nature, and her paths explore. 
4 



38 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



STUDY. 



If all the year were playing holidays, 
To sport would be as tedious as to work. 

SHAKSPEARE. 



Enough of boisterous sports, of joys that spring 
To hasty birth, in pleasure's noisy ring : 

Lo ! Study comes, sedate, of thoughtful brow 
And tranquil mien : with her, come toils that please. 
And tasks that quicken ; following close on these, 

See, Knowledge comes, responsive to the vow 

Of studious youth, whose generous thoughts allow 
No base remission, no inglorious ease. 

Turn then delighted to thy books again : 
Play sends thee bounding back to study now, 

Like steed, high strung, curvetting on the rein. 
Blest pliancy of youth ! that still can range 
From sport to toil, rejoicing in each change, 

Sport free from care, and study void of pain. 



THE LANGUAGES. 



No nourishment to feed his growing mind, 
But conjugated verbs, and nouns declined. 

COWPER. 



Three years of hard ungenial toil are past, 
Chiefly the elements of speech to gain, 

The Greek and Latin ; they are won at last, 
Though slowly, and with effort oft in vain 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 39 

And scant the scholarship I gathered thence 

In niceties of language, that belong 

To masters of the Greek and Roman song. 
What matters it, if something of their sense 

I gained, and learned, at times, somewhat to feel 

The Mantuan music, and poetic zeal ; 
The pregnant brevity of Sallust won, 
Anacreon's warmth, the ease of Xenophon ; 

Nor wanted thoughts and feelings that dispense 

Some glow of Ciceronian eloquence. 



HISTORY. 



The Past ! the Past ! O turn thine eye, 
Where scenes of distant years unfold : 

And forms, long- lost, come floating by, 
Life-like 7 on History's page unrolled. 



If forms of grammar, and the classic page, 
Too coldly follow, thence ill understood, 
Gave less enjoyment, than of right they should, 
Works more inviting failed not to engage 

My youthful ardour, tasked, but unsubdued. 
Books were my playmates then ; and oft could win 
From all associates, and the cheerful din 

Of sports, else grateful, hours that others use 
For sleep, amusement, or the tasks assigned 
Of classic study. Pleasure more refined 

Than ought else known, the grave historic muse 
Of Greece, of Rome, of England could diffuse, 
In rich abundance still, of use combined 
With high enjoyment, to the thoughtful mind. 



40 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



POLITICS. 



But ah I ye Muses, keep your votary's feet 
From tavern haunts, where Politicians meet. 

CRABBE. 



A school boy Politician ! can there be 

Sight worthier for the cynic to despise, 

Or wise men pity — feelings, such as rise, 
In men, from selfish interests oft, to see 
Thus early ruling o'er the young and free, 

The fair ingenuous mind. Well could I prate, 
And confident, of party leaders then, 

The magnates of a day, whose short lived date 
Now scarce survives, in memory of men. 

Strange ! that, so soon, such follies should engage 
Youth's unbribed thoughts, in fancied cares of state, 

That crib the soaring mind in folly's cage. 
Yet small the difference ; party zeal and hate 

Not more, in youth, are odious, than in age. 



DINAH. 



But drive far off the barbarous dissonance 
Of Bacchus and his revellers. milton. 



And can I pass thee, Dinah ! o'er, 
Thy savoury cake and ale ! 

And must my leisure stray no more 
Adown this quiet vale 1 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 41 

What pleasure was it, once a week, 

(Not oftener did we dare !) 
Thy rural lodge, at eve, to seek, 

And taste its homely fare. 

How neat the table, ready spread, 

With napkin white as snow ; 
The wispering pine above our head, 

The murmuring stream below. 

And then to hear old Cuff dilate 

On dangers met afar, 
The varied turns of changeful fate, 

When master went to war ! 

While Dinah's comely visage glows, 

A pure transparent jet, 
With coral lips, whose bright smile shows 

A mouth with ivory set ! 

Thy sparkling beaker, Dinah ! ne'er 

Does broil or discord breed ; 
Yet well the heart of youth can cheer, 

Of youth from study freed ; 

When bursting from restraints away, 

The stern restraints of school, 
Amid these silent groves we stray, 

By stream and fountain cool. 

The rich may boast of prouder fare ; 

But what does pride avail ? 
As well might age with youth compare. 

As wine with Dinah's ale ! 
4* 



42 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

Oh ! I may wander far, nor find 

Such simple joys again ; 
To haunts of pleasure more refined, 

Of pleasure mixed with pain. 

The gay saloon, the gilded hall, 
Where folly flirts in fashion's ring, 

May well our humbler joys recall, 
While seated by yon spring, 

Where careless thrown the lawn along, 

In thoughtless reverie, 
We list the night bird's soothing song, 

Or hum of homeward bee. 

Unknown alike to pomp and state, 

To want, regret, and fear, 
Nor sullen pride, nor rival hate 

Disturbs our quiet here. 

How soft the shades of evening close 

O'er forest, dale, and hill ; 
While tranquil thoughts, in calm repose, 

Like dews of night distil. 

O'er lowly cot, and woodland scene, 
Descends the welcome hour ; 

Nor less our hearts, in joy serene, 
Partake the season's power. 

Thy plastic power, great nature ! then, 
Can mould the thoughts of youth, 

At evening felt, in rural glen, 
The power of love and truth ; 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 43 

Of love and truth o'er gentle hearts, 

While health its bloom bestows ; 
Where truth its charm to thought imparts, 

And life with love o'erflows. 



LOVE. 



He feels, through thrilling 1 nerve and quickened brain, 
Love's piercing dart, — from Beauty's laughing eye 
At random shot, unconscious of its aim. 



Love, in the young, while yet the heart is free, 
Is nature's bounteous gift ; the rich o'erflow 
Of fond affection, ere he learns to know 

Or choice, or difference ; and in all can see 

Bright charms, responsive to his fantasy, 
Whereon his bland endearments to bestow. 
The bud, in spring will swell, the lily blow, 

Though none be near to mark it on the lea ; 
The lamb will frolic, and the kitten play, 
Instinctive taught ; and blithe the linnet's lay 

Flows, unconstrained, in notes of native glee. 
Not less, in fervent youth, man's heart obeys 
The genial impulse, which all nature sways, 

When love first wakes, in Beauty's quickening ray. 



44 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



SCHOOL BOY PASSION. 



Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, 
One nickname to her purblind son and heir : 
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied. 

SHAKSPEARE. 



The little Love God to this breast, 
Like serpent in the sparrow's nest, 
Hath crept, unwares, to break my rest, 
And torture me. 

I wist not ought of subtle guile, 
In looks so soft, in that arch smile ! 
But ah ! it won my heart, the while, 
And tortures me. 

Oh ! could I touch that cruel heart ; 
Would she but yield to Cupid's dart : 
But ah ! she glories in the smart 
That tortures me. 

Bright Venus ! lend thy powerful aid, 
Oh ! come in all thy charms arrayed, 
And be on her that power displayed 
That tortures me. 

Come thou too, Cupid ! sportive bay, 
Come, heavenly source of earthly joy ; 
And thou, fair maid ! no more be coy, 
That torturest me. 

Alas ! nor maid, nor Cupid near ; 
No "Venus lends a favouring ear ; 
My love, my grief, is none will hear ; 
This tortures me. 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 45 



AMBITION. 



Come, wilt thou see me ride ? 
And when I am o'horsebaek, I will swear 
I love thee infinitely ! shakspeare. 



Away with Love — his subtle net 

Would snare my heart before its time : 

But no ! he shall not bind me yet, 
For I have many a height sublime 
Of steep ascent, with toil to climb, 

Where passion's fire and love's regret, 

Would check my course in youthful prime 

Hence then be love's illusion cast, 

It must not, and it shall not last, 

Hope is the Captain of our host, 
Whose meanest follower of the war 

May all his leader's ardour boast ; 
And we have sworn to follow far 
The light of that presiding star, 

Till, earth's wide realms of study crost, 
Labour shall learning's orates unbar : 

And knowledge lead the steps of youth 

To virtue in the paths of truth. 

Not now, O Love ! should' st thou appear ; 
Thy light artillery bears no part, 

Where patient toil and thought severe 
Must win the heights of studious art : 
Turn then from me thy erring dart, 



46 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

Since I must bear, through many a year, 
The studious look, and loveless heart : 
Then do not ask that I should wear 
Thy favours on this brow of care. 

This is no time to grieve, or sigh, 

O'er lover's bliss, in lady's bower : 
My eager thoughts are soaring high, 

Where knowledge, truth, ambition, power. 

Rich blessings on their votary shower : 
Then farewell, Love ! I needs must fly 

Thy soft enchantment, at this hour ; 
Yet smile not thus, in proud disdain, 
We part, Oh Love ! to meet again. 



FAREWELL TO EXETER. 
August 22, 1805. 



'Tis vain ; we cannot tear apart 
The ties that twine around the heart, 

But blood will follow. Future years 
Lie bright in prospect 5 but regret 
Is mingled with the parting yet, 

Alternate sorrows, hopes, and fears. 



Pensive, yet pleased, I breathe a fond farewell, 

Exonia ! to thy calm untroubled bowers ; 

Where knowledge first, on my unfolding powers, 
Her quickening influence shed, and taught to swell 
Those buds of early thought, that burst their cell, 

In prime of youth, mid warmth of vernal showers. 

Ye fond associates of my studious hours ! 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 47 

Though now we part, remembrance still shall dwell 
On each fair form, to youthful love endeared : 

And Thou, whose skillful hand could rule so well 
Our apt and froward youth, O guide revered ! 

If once I deemed thee stern, yet now I find 

Thy seeming rigour was, in truth, most kind ; 
Severe yet friendly, and beloved though feared. 



THE ABBOT JUBILEE. 

August 23, 1838. 



The summer months bring wilding shoot 
From bud to bloom 7 from bloom to fruit ; 
And years draw on our human span 
From child to boy, from boy to man. scott. 



Abbot ! to thee thy pupils bring 
Their tribute due of grateful praise, 

With feelings warm, that freshly spring, 
At memory of departed days : 
'Mid those far scenes when fancy strays, 

How bright each early vision burns, 

While years roll back, and youth returns ! 

How oft in hours of toil, or strife, 

When false friends fail, and fortune lowers, 

The scenes return of early life ; 

Of youthful sports and careless hours, 
Passed gaily 'mid these classic bowers ; 

Till sighs burst forth, that life no more 

Those joys can give, it gave before. 



48 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

Long years are past ; and time has wrought 
On each changed form, till memory finds 

Slight semblance left of former thought ; 
And weak, perchance, each tie that binds 
Our sundered hearts and altered minds. 

Oh ! say not so, — since true hearts yet 

The loves of youth can ne'er forget. 

And we, though far our steps have strayed, 
To Europe's shores, or Asia's strand, 

Our homes in western wilds though made, 
Or in the glowing southern land, 
Yet feel new life, as here we stand, 

Where erst we stood, while days of yore 

Come thronging all our memories o'er. 

To us, each well remembered spot, 

The plains, the groves, are still the same, 

No object changed, no sport forgot ; 
Kite, marble, football, each old game, 
Wherein to win was then held fame, 

Here flourish still ; and half we deem 

Ourselves unchanged, in this blest dream. 

But no, 'tis past ; the fates allow 

No second youth, — since time will trace 

His change alike on furrowed brow, 

And mind matured. In youth's warm race, 
Our sons have ta'en their fathers' place, 

And we, with mixed regret and pride, 

To aid their course must step aside. 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 49 

Instructer sage! beloved as feared, 
On whom our youthful cares we cast, 

To gfateful bosoms long endeared, 
Say, must this meeting be our last ? 
Is thy long term of service past ? 

And may our sons no longer crave 

The aids to us thy wisdom gave ? 

Farewell ! since warmest hopes in vain 
Would hold thee longer in our view ; 

Affectionate, with tender pain, 
Fondly we bid thee here adieu ; 
New joys may come, new scenes ensue, 

But time shall hallow, in each heart, 

The scene, the hour, wherein we part. 

Soft be the pillow of thine age, 

The cradle of declining years, 
Unknown alike to turbid rage, 

To sordid want, or bigot fears : 

While hope's bright ray thy prospect cheers, 
Gently may time, in reverence, shed 
The frosts of age around thy head. 



SCEJYES FROM THE PAST 



S3@©3E SX£(9®£3 l IE)o 



CONTENTS. 

Entering College — The Freshman — First Visit to the Theatre — In- 
dolence — Contemplation — Ambition — Devotion— —The Sophomore — On 
Horseback — The Unknown Beauty — The Sleigh Ride — The Dance — 
Dissipation — Vice — Excitement — The Junior — Developement of Taste, 
as displayed in admiration of the Beautiful and the Sublime — Influence 
of Mind on Matter — The Beautiful — The Beauty of Holiness — The 
Truth of Nature — Music — Sculpture — Painting — Morning Walk — Even- 
ing Walk — Walk in Winter — The Ocean — The White Hills — The 
Mountain Streams. 



7 © W f ec 



SCEJVES FROM THE PAST 



BOOK SECOND. 



ENTERING COLLEGE. 

Where, graced with many a classic spoil, 

Cam rolls his reverend stream along, 
I haste to urge the learned toil, 

That sternly chides my love-lorn song. Coleridge. 

Hope is the guide of youth ; yet sudden fear 
Seized on me, Harvard ! as at first thy walls 
I entered ; slow along thy solemn halls 

Pacing, in silent dread, to where appear 

Thy grave instructers, marshalled forth to hear 
Me, inexpert, from morn to eve, expound 
The mysteries of syntax ; depths profound 

Of prosody explore ; the mazes clear 
Of conjugations ; and declensions run 

Through all varieties of changeful speech. 
If well, enquire not, since the task is done ; 
Not ill, belike, for lo ! the goal is won ; 

Nor further now my fondest wishes reach, 
Matriculated, Harvard ! as thy son. 

5* 



54 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

THE FRESHMAN. 

Resistless burns the fever of renown, 

Caught from the strong contagion of the gown. 

JOHNSON. 

How shall I paint the Freshman ? Proud in thought, 
As deeming that his toils have won, at length, 
The virile robe ; rejoicing in the strength 

Of nascent virtue ; modest too ; yet fraught 

With high resolves, of honor to be sought 
By studious arts, and scholarship attained. 

Henceforth, his mind no needful task will shun, 

Howe'er laborious : rising with the sun, 

To toil till midnight, all his powers are strained 

To utmost effort. No base thought of ease, 

Or sloth inglorious, can his fancy please, 
Nor vice allure. Already, in his eye, 
The course is traversed ; and he springs on high, 

Eager the academic wreath to seize. 

FIRST VISIT TO THE THEATRE. 



Honey with poison, in one flower,, 
Is mingled oft, in narrow bound : 

The bee, that shuns the poison's power, 
Hath yet the treasured honey found : 

So, haply, may thy care attain 

The Drama's sweets, nor taste its pain. 

The play was Alexander, in the pride 
Of Cooper's early acting ; and he trod 
The swelling scene, in word and deed, a God, 

Young Amnion, mortal, but yet deified. 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 55 

Alas ! that art so seldom can deceive 
The practiced eye ; that credence is denied, 

Where fond credulity would fain receive 

The kind deception, eager to believe ! 
To me there was no acting there, no stage 

Of paltry wood and canvass, in my view ; 
But Babylon's proud towers, Roxana's rage, 

Hephestion, Clytus, all the poet drew, 
Prince, courtier, lover, manhood, youth and age, 

No quaint disguise, but real all and true. 



II. 



What seek ye here ? Joy's evenescent bloom ! 

SMITH. 



Such faith has pliant youth : I since have seen 
Pierre, Jaffier, Belvidera's tender part, 
The love of Juliet, Shylock's vengeful heart, 

Pizarro, Zanga, Richard's sneering mein, 
Hal, FalstafF, Quickly, Hotspur's fiery spleen, 

Jaques, Hamlet, Macbeth, swart Othello's hue, 

And Lear amid the storm : paid honor due 
To Cook, to Keen, to Matthews' matchless art 

Of mimic nature ; actors not a few, 

Nor worthless seen ; have felt the warm tear start, 

In tragic passion ; joined in laughter too, 
Not less sincere : yet none could e'er impart 

Feelings that equalled, in intense delight, 

The wonders of that first undoubting night. 



56 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

INDOLENCE. 
I. 



Here naught but candour reigns, indulgent ease, 
Good natured lounging, sauntering up and down. 

THOMPSON. 



How soon, alas ! impediments arise 

In virtue's paths : the stripling that could dare 

Each adverse height, how sinks he in despair, 
At toils unseen, at labours that surprise, 
In mid career, his inexperienced eyes. 

The stated tasks grow irksome ; daily care, 

And nightly study health and hope impair, 
Till courage droops, and young ambition dies. 

Yet sink not so, fond youth ! e'en now the chain 
Of sloth is round thee : siren Pleasure wins 
Thy heart, yet virtuous, but to venal sins, 

Mere freaks of youthful folly ; but her reign, 
Though oft in harmless sport the course begins, 

Brings Vice full soon, with misery in her train. 



II. 



Nay, dally not with time, the wise man's treasure, 
Though fools are lavish on't : the fatal Fisher 
Hooks souls, while we waste moments. scott. 



11 Oh ! call not Pleasure Vice ; nor seek to balk 
The flow of youthful feelings unabused : 
The song, the dance, the bowl, infrequent used, 

At friendly meetings, mid enlivening talk, 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 57 

Thou need'st not sure condemn ; nor evening walk, 
Nor healthful morning ride, can be refused." 

But is thy Homer studied, Horace scanned, 
And Euclid demonstrated 1 Livy's page, 
Plato, Demosthenes, — do these engage 

Thy earnest thought 1 Or hast thou nothing planned 
But pleasure's idle pageant 1 Is the strife 
For fame forgotten ; and thy worthless life 

To end inglorious ? Oh ! in time withstand 

The baneful fiend, ere yet by sloth unmanned. 



CONTEMPLATION. 



An equal mixture of good humour, 

And sensible soft melancholy. pope. 

The world, perchance, my idleness might deem 
A vice. It was not such, dear Bliss \ with thee, 
While unconstrained, in social pleasure free, 

Our prime of joy was plunging in the stream, 
At morn, or eve : or wandering o'er the lea, 

Arm linked in arm. 'Twas thus each loved retreat 

We won delighted, with unwearied feet, 
Each vale exploring, and each secret nook ; 

Fished on Fresh Pond, our light sail gaily spread ; 

Or roamed Mount Auburn, city of the dead, 
Then wild, untenanted. While nature's book, 

Spread wide before us, all its secrets told, 

How idly busy life's bright currents rolled, 

In streams of thought, that murmured like a brook. 



58 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



II. 



And we were canopied by the blue sky, 
So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful, 
That God alone was to be seen in heaven. 



Deem not such hours mispent, though not confined 
To formal study : Farrar's brow may frown, 
And thoughtful Nichols note our absence down : 

Yet haply, at such hour, the busy mind 
Is working for itself the problem out 
Of some deep truth, or solving subtle doubt. 

In these broad diagrams, by nature lined 

On hill and plain, the studious thought may find 
Solution that puts servile fear to rout. 

On yonder bank, while basking in the sun, 
How deeply hath the varied prospect wrought 
On our wrapt souls ! how purified each thought, 

From low desire, from selfish feelings won, 
To virtue's lore, by liberal nature taught. 



AMBITION. 



His frame of mind was serious and severe, 
Beyond his years : his dreams were of great objects. 

WALLENSTEIN, 



Yet loved I better, Bird ! at times, with thee, 
To watch, with kindling eye, the world of men. 
And frame high schemes of action ; idle then, 

And haply ill advised ; yet generous, free, 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 59 

In pride of youth, that scorned servility, 

And mocked at baseness. Oft, entranced, we dwelt 
On glowing annals of the olden time, 

The Greek, or Roman, till our bosoms felt 
Congenial ardour ; oft in thought sublime, 

Statesmen ourselves, or warriors ! dealt the blow, 

In fancied combat with our country's foe, 
When tyrants menaced : nor less eager bent, 

In halls of state, on public cares intent, 
To rise supreme, and rule the crowd below ! 

DEVOTION. 
I. 

He knew not 
The doctrine of ill doing : no, nor dreamed 
That any did. shakspeare. 

How different, yet not adverse, was the strain 

Of tranquil hope, what time, day's labours o'er, 
I wandered oft, well pleased, along the plain, 

Stevens ! with thee ; indulging thoughts that soar, 
Humble, yet high, above ambition's aim. 

The setting sun, and fading twilight wrought, 

Oft in our minds, oblivion of low thought, 
And selfish cares ; till, kindling as it came, 
Our hearts grew holy in devotion's flame. 

Not cowled, nor cloistered, nor with venom fraught 
Of fierce contentious zeal, or bigot pride, 

Came mild Religion there ; but robed in might 

Of meek humility, and reason's light, 
Our sorrow's comforter, and virtue's guide. 



60 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



II. 



A sacred stream, 
In whose calm depth the beautiful and pure 
Alone are mirrored. talfourd. 



No, not in tempests wrapt of midnight gloom, 

He came, the Father, to our opening minds ; 
In beauty rather of the vernal bloom, 

Fair flowers, and waving woods, & whispering winds 
Each form of milder nature, whose control 

The yielding breast in willing bondage binds. 
A calm abstraction of the softened soul 

Steals o'er each sense, that, mild as dewy eve 
In leafy June, seems melting into tears ; 

Tears, less of sorrow shed, than tranquil joy, 

That finds not more in speech its glad employ, 
Than mute admiring praise ; while earth's dark fears 

Its cares, its doubts, the burthened bosom leave, 
For hope's full flow of bliss without alloy. 



THE SOPHOMORE. 



Breathe his faults so quaintly, 
That they may seem the taints of liberty ; 
The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind. 

SHAKSPEARE. 



The union rare of modesty combined 

With seemly confidence, that marked the tone 
Of entering Freshman, is no longer known, 

His rash impatience only left behind. 




SCENES FROM THE PAST. 61 

Too wise to learn, too knowing to believe, 
And all too fond of freedom, to receive 

Command or counsel, lo ! the Sophomore ! 
Ripe for revolt, to rapture quick inflamed, 
With feelings high, and spirits all untamed, 

He feels, through every vein, the passions pour 

Their headlong currents ; high his wishes soar, 
And oft as low descend : nor man, nor boy, 
He knows not yet, to suffer, or enjoy, 

Calmly, — but each extreme would fain explore. 



ON HORSEBACK. 



The noble horse 
That, in his fiery youth, from his wide nostrils, 
Neighs courage to his rider. massinger. 



Lightly bounds my gallant steed, 

Starting from the goal away ; 
And my thoughts, from study freed, 

They too move as light and gay, 
Cheerful sounds around me ringing 
Bright streams rippling, gay birds singing. 

Soon the plain is hurried o'er ; 

Toil and care fall fast behind, 
Sorrow's sigh, and discord's roar, 

Dying on the distant wind, 
While with swift yet gentle motion, 
Bounds my steed, like waves of ocean. 
6 



62 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

White as ocean's foam his mane ; 

And his smooth flanks dappled bright 
With the leopard's varied stain, 

Glisten on the dazzled sight, 
As, his master's pleasure sharing, 
Proud he prances, danger daring. 

Buoyant spirits, feelings strong, 

Lively hopes, and visions gay ; 
Thoughts that flash, like fire, along, 

Fancies, bright as beams of day, 
Health's high pulse, youth's boundless treasure 
Swells my heart's extatic measure. 

Floating on the clear blue sky, 

By the breezes wildly blown, 
Yonder cloud sails swiftly by, 

With a rapture like mine own ; 
Lone, yet happy, heavenward tending, 
Earth's dark shades with bright beams blending. 

Labour's sons their toil may ply, 

Delving deep in worthless lore : 
Delve they deeper ! what care I 

Such dark treasures to explore, 
While yon sun, high o'er me shining, 
Sends down wealth worth all their mining — 

Stores of wealth in generous thought, 

Treasures rich of feeling pure, 
Truths, by liberal nature taught, 

Hopes, that long as life endure ; 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 6^1 

Earth-born hopes, yet proudly swelling 
High as heaven, their native dwelling. 

What though wide renown, and power, 

Wait not on my humble course, 
'Tis enough, should fortune lower, 

If my mind, in native force, 
Soar aloft, with fearless pinion, 
Sovereign in her own dominion ! 

Slave to no base lure, or lust, 

Be it still my steady aim, 
Truth to win, in truth to trust ; 

And to virtue's generous claim 
Yield me freely, — careless ever 
Of vain fortune's frown or favour. 



THE UNKNOWN BEAUTY. 



The might, the majesty of loveliness. byro>:. 

How warm and generous the devotion laid 

By youth at beauty's shrine ! As unemployed, 
One summer morn, my steps afar had strayed, 
A steed came slowly by, — whereon a maid 

Sat, wrapt in wonder, as her heart enjoyed 
The lovely scene, — unconscious that man's eye, 
E'en then, was kindling into sympathy 

With that bright face, in pleasure unalloyed. 



64 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



Ere long, surprised, yet haply not annoyed, 
Her glance met mine : the blush, that came to die 
Her glowing cheeks' carnation, made reply 
To love's warm feelings, in my looks betrayed, 
As lowly bowing, I prompt homage paid 
To youthful beauty, hastening quickly by. 



II. 



Who ever loved, thai loved not at first sighi 

SHAKSPEARE. 



She passed me blushing : I have sought in vain, 
In thronged assemblies since, and in the shade, 
Where first we met, to meet again that maid : 

But though oft sought, and never found again, 

The warm emotions of that hour remain, 
In memory still of youthful love arrayed. 

Though all unlikely, yet our flame, methought, 
Was mutual there ; the fond conceit long stayed. 

Deep on my heart impressed, that she too sought 
Her absent lover. Oft that dream employed 

My wayward thought, till fancy could adore 

This unknown beauty, and desire no more. 
Vain dream of youthful folly ! long enjoyed, 
Till love, true love, the fancied bliss destroyed. 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 65 



THE SLEIGH RIDE. 



Why should a man, whose blood is warm within. 
Sit like his grandsire, cut in alabaster ! 

SHAKSPEARE. 



Oh ! who would slumber, this most glorious night, 
In ill timed rest ; or, cowering by the ray 
Of sordid lamp-light, wear his hours away, 

In thankless study here ? The moon is bright ; 
Our steeds are harnessed to the flying sleigh, 

And forth we speed, our bosoms bounding light, 
With merry shout, that chides our brief delay. 

What sport is ours, o'erturned, and in the snow 
Rolling together ! soon to rise again, 
Then whirl exulting o'er the snow clad plain ; 

Careless of danger, so our good steeds go 

Swift to their destined goal, — while beauty's cheek 
Is mantling fresh, with pleasure's ruddy streak, 

Heightened, by winter's kiss, to loveliest glow. 



THE DA N C E. 



His brow -belied him if his soul was sad. byron. 

And safe arrived, what joy awaits us now, 
As answering to the viol's lively sound, 
Featly, and gaily, in the dance we bound, 

Hand linked in hand. Flushed cheek and glowing brow s 
6* 



66 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

Tell soon what transports such brief hours allow 
To youthful hearts ; nor pause nor rest is found, 

While swift, — to care unknown, — the moments fly, 
Chased by the laughing graces. Here, love's vow, 

Low whispered, fires the cheek ; and there the eye 
Speaks plain what one, at least, can well discern. 

Me, careless of such thoughts, the hours endow 
With joy's gay heritage of mirth and fun : 
Would it were lasting ! but too soon the sun 

Shines in, unwelcome, on our swift return. 



DISSIPATION. 

Just now we're living sound and hale — 
Then top and mainmast crowd the sail. 

Heave Care o'ei side L 
And large before Enjoyment's gale 

Let's tak' the tide ! burns. 

Away, thou greybeard Wisdom I go — 
Art not ashamed to show thy face, 

Where jocund Pleasure mocks at wo, 
And youth with folly joins the chase ? 
This is for thee no fitting place : 

We move not here by square and rule, 

But live to laugh, and play the fool ! 

Ay, play the fool, in fitting time, 
Despite what sapless dotards say : 

Our pulse beats high, in merry chime, 

Our blood runs quick, our thoughts are crav. 
Our study now is sport and play : 

Then go, good grandsire ! haste along, 

We else may do thy grave looks wrong. 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. <J7 

We would not that our mad pranks here, 
Should grieve thee, Wisdom ! or offend ; 

We fain would shun thy frown austere ; 
Then go in peace, right reverend friend ! 
And should we need, we yet may send ; 

For well we know, if aid we lack, 

Experience soon brings Wisdom back. 

Well — slow, but sure — he's out of sight — ► 
Good riddance to his surly lower ! 

He'll not return again, to night, 
To cloud with gloom our festive hour : 
Meantime, light hands shall deck our bower, 

And gay Hope weave a garland fair, 

To wreath the brow of wrinkled care. 

Come, broad faced Humour, lively, free, 
Loud Laughter, foe to grief and pain, 

Wild Frolic, come, and Revelry, 
The jovial throng of Comus' train, 
Bright Wit, gay Sport, rich Fancy's vein, — 

Ye all are welcome, e'en the least, 

When Pleasure spreads for Youth her feast. 

But banish hence those foes of life, 
Envy and Malice, and the brood 

Of sullen furies, Wrath and Strife, 
Contention dire, and Anger rude : 
These shall not on our feast intrude ; 

Nor thought of study, toil, or pain 

The heyday of our mirth profane. 



68 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

Good Cheer shall at our board preside, 
And well fed Bounty with us sup ; . . 

Nor Temperance quite forsake our side, 
While gay we sip the red wine up, 
Least Youth find poison in the cup, 

If pushed too far, till Fancy feel 

Her bright powers flag, and reason reel. 

Should Wisdom, with a Tutor's face, 
Unwonted sight ! again appear, 

We'll e'en consent to give him place : 
With hearty shout, and right good cheer, 
Sir Gravity ! you're welcome here ; 

And, sooth to say, since we're together, 

We'll crown your cap with Folly's feather ! 



VICE. 



Amid the roses fierce Repentance rears 
Her snaky crest. Thompson. 



There is a wild and heartless mirth, 
Which guilt on folly can bestow ; 

It doth not spring from heaven or earth, 
But hath its source in realms below : 
The root whereon its branches grow, 

Is Vice : all joy that thence takes birth, 
Is madness, ending soon in wo. 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 69 

The forced contempt that curls the lip, 

The sneer of hate, the laugh of scorn, 
Could we these false disguises strip, 

Would show a heart by misery torn : 

The galling yoke of grief is borne, 
Heaviest, by those who madly sip 

False pleasure's cup, with hearts forlorn. 

And I have seen light pleasure fling 

Her net o'er many a generous mind, 
Entranced within her magic ring ; 

While youth on pleasure's couch reclined, 

In converse gay with wit refined, 
Unconscious that guilt's deadly sting, 

E'en there, his inmost soul might find. 

The weal or wo, wherein we dwell, 

The mind doth for itself create ; 
And forms within the heaven or hell, 

That makes, or mars, our changeful state : 

Virtue alone can ope the gate 
Of lasting joy, can grief repel, 

Or meet, unmoved, the storms of fate. 

EXCITEMENT. 

Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds. shakspeare. 

If thou, in body to the earth allied, 

Would'st in base joys thy sordid pleasures find. 
Go, wallow in the sty ; and quench the pride 

Of lofty thought, thy high aspiring mind, 



70 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

In low and sensual pleasures, such as bind 
Yon heedless revellers, In folly's den. 
Excitement dost thou need 1 Go, seek it then 

In strenuous thought, intent all truth to know ; 
In action seek it, mid thy fellow men ; 

In virtuous feeling find it ; raise the low, 

Direct the erring, dry the tears that flow, 
And bid thy light, the light of virtue, shine : 
So shalt thou need nor feast, nor sparkling wine, 

Thy thought to feed, or bid thy fancy glow. 



THE JUNIOR. 



And time, who changes all, had altered him, 
In soul and aspect, as in age. byron. 



The Junior Sophister has learned, at length, 
That license is not freedom ; that control, 
Howe'er ungrateful to the youthful soul, 

Gives aim to effort, and to action strength : 
For painful doubt, he seeks the known relief 
Of settled truth, in well assured belief: 

Reverence hath won submission in his mind 
To rightful power. The College honors now 
Though late despised, he fears not to avow 

Meet objects of desire ; nor fails to find 
The Clubs' mysterious brotherhood assert 
Its kindling power o'er feelings else inert, — 

Ambition rousing, with high hopes combined, 
That long o'er life their potent sway exert. 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 71 



INFLUENCE OF MIND ON MATTER, 



Mind is the ruling 1 power, that moulds at will 
The world of matter, — finding" in its forms 
But outward images of inbred thought. 



External nature borrows half its grace 

From mind, which, kindled by its native fires, 
Projects abroad the beauty it admires. 
To sorrow's leaden eye, creation's face 

Is clothed in gloom, and discontent retires 
Sullen from loveliest scenes ; while tempests bring 
But nobler music, on their sounding wing, 

To hearts attuned to harmony within. 
Hence earth is what man makes it ; to the low, 
The weak, the sordid, one wide den of wo, 

Of base compulsion, and ignoble sin ; 
But lovely to the good, and to the wise, 
Whose souls its seeming din can harmonize, 
Clothed in the beauty happy thoughts bestow. 



THE BEAUTIFUL. 
I. 

Our feelings sanctify e'en senseless things ; 
And the wide world, in cheerful loveliness, 
Returns to us its joy. wilson. 

To such, all earth is lovely ; and this frame 
Of things created, — whether great or small, 
From insect atoms to earth's pendent ball, — 

Each hath its charm and glory, each its claim, 



TZ SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

Its scope, its purpose, its peculiar aim, 

Its form of beauty, seen alike in all — 
Wrought by that hand divine, which can educe 
From forms unnumbered never ending use : 

Nor use alone His purposes proclaim, 
But pleasure and endearments, that infuse 

The sense of beauty, and the heart inflame 
With love of nature, grace with grandeur joined : 

Hence Taste, and Plastic Art, the tuneful Muse, 
And each fine issue of the polished mind. 



II. 



Nor was this fellowship vouchsafed to me 
With stinted kindness ; — purifying thus 
The elements of feeling and of thought. 

WORDSWORTH. 



Where'er we turn, the Beautiful is still 

Within and round us ; seen in hill and dale, 
In waving wood, deep glen, and cottaged vale, 

In quiet lake, broad stream, and sparkling rill ; 

In dew-gemmed meadows, vocal with the trill 
Of wild wood warblers, pouring on the gale 

Their joyous throats ; felt livelier in the flow 

Of pure affections, cherished in the glow 
Of manly thoughts, and feelings that incline 

To vituous deeds ; nor seen more lovely, clear, 

In beauty's smile, than pity's generous tear. 

These mould the ductile thoughts, thegraceful shrine 

Of Taste adorn, and beauty's arbour rear, 
Sky-lighted, mantled with the clustering vine. 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



III. 



A truth, which through our being- then doth melt, 
And purifies from self. byron. 



Who loves not beauty 1 beauty in the grass, 

The grain, the grove, in gently winding streams, 
The moon's mild ray, and morning's rosy beams. 

Brighter in living forms, the moving mass 
Of insect life, bird, beast, with beauty teems : 

Nor rests it here ; the human face divine 

Blends grace of form with beauties of the mind, 
Deep thought with generous feeling, reason joined 

With warm emotion : hence all charms combine 
Highest in virtuous action ; hence the grace 
Loveliest of earthly forms, gives willing place 

To moral beauty, where pure virtues shine ; 
And hence, in happy bosoms, beauty's fruit 
Is hope, joy, love, devotion, from one root. 



THE BEAUTY OF HOLINESS. 



The high-born soul, 
Disdains to rest her heaven-aspiring wing 
Beneath its native quarry. akenside. 



Love is Devotion with a milder name ; 
And Piety but turns that love from earth 
To highter hopes, and joys of nobler birth. 

Lovely, not less than sacred, is the flame 
7 



74 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

Of pure devotion : earth, like heaven, may claim 
Its portion of true bliss, when pure hearts know 
Love's fervid truth, in virtue's generous a\ow. 

The good and fair from kindred fountains rise, 
Commingling gently, as they onward flow, 

In dews of love, exhaling to the skies. 

Heaven is but earth sublimed ; and man may trace 

Emblems of holiness, and power divine, 
In earth-born loveliness of form and face, 

Where youth in meekness kneels at virtue's shrine. 



THE TRUTH OF NATURE. 



Truth is immortal : time and change but prey 
On shows and shadows, insubstantial things, 
Which, life-like oft, and specious to the eye, 
Are false and hollow yet within. 



True thought, and genuine feeling never die : 
Inborn and glowing, from the teeming heart 
And mind impregnate, into life they start, 

In forms of beauty that can time defy. 

Whate'er the task true genius may essay, — 
Sculpture, or music, or the poet's lay, 

By pen, by pencil, or if voiced on high 
By tongue of orator inspired, whose sway, 
The listening crowd, with willing hearts, obey, — 

Whate'er the form, if strength of thought be there, 
And genial warmth, to nature's impulse true, 

Feelings are roused, which time's rude hand must spare, 
A truth revealed, no age can e'er subdue, 

With earth coeval, and her date to share. 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 75 



MUSIC. 



Soft music makes me sad ; as if its tones 
Were turned to discord, by the jar and din 
Of evil passions — earth's loud dissonance 
Of sordid purposes and selfish aims. 



Art is but nature's finer sense exprest, 
In forms idealized. The graver's style, 
The brush, string, chisel, voice, each acts, the while, 

Its fitting part ; to eye or ear addrest, 

In shape, or hue, in tune, or spoken sounds. 

Music of these may earliest lineage claim, 

Child of the grove ! what time the gay birds* came, 
Warbling, self-taught, while earth with joy resounds, 
Eve's bridal song, through Eden's verdant bounds. 

Love first waked music : and the tuneful mind 

Pours still, thro' thrilling notes, with rapture fraught, 

In one deep symphony of passion joined, 

Hope, fear, love, joy, — whate'er of earnest thought, 
Or ardent feeling, sound from soul hath caught. 



SCOLPTUR E. 
I. 



Chained to the chariot of triumphant art, 
We stand as captives, and would not depart. 



Nature is perfect, yet can Art improve 
On that perfection ; for 'tis her's to join 
All forms of beauty, and in one combine 

Their scattered glories, and each shade remove : 
* Lucretius, Lib. V. 1. 1378. 



76 SCENES FROM THE PAST, 

Hence works of art, that mingle awe with love, 
Natural, yet superhuman ; forms divine, 
Yet earth-born, quarried from the living mine 

Of truth and grandeur in the artist's soul. 
; Tis his on nature's beauties to refine, 

Her charms improve, and pour around the whole 
The master mind creative ; for when such 

His noblest work to latest time would give, 
The stone, grown flexible beneath his touch, 

Breathes silent thought, and marble learns to live* 



II. 



; Twas but a block.of lifeless stone 
Angelo, Phidias, wrought upon, 

Worthless in other hands ; 
Yet they could form to sculpture give,. 
That bade the cold dead marble live. 

While earth's foundation stands. 



Who that has gazed, in rapture's silent dream, 
On thee, O Queen of Love ! till, in his sight, 

Thy modest charms, with warm emotion teem ; 
Or hung, in prouder glow of wrapt delight, 
On Phoebus, victor in the archer fight ; 

Laocoon's pain, the Gladiator's gleam 

Of sadly parting life ; or, down the stream 

Floating with time, has fixed his earnest gaze, 
On matchless monuments of later days, 

His of the Julian tomb and Martyr's fane, 

Canova, Chantrey, or the deathless Dane ; 
Who but has felt that marble, in such strife, 
Transcends, in lasting power, the real life; 

Life, matched with hio-hest art, found weak and vain. 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 77 



PAINTING. 



They are, in truth, the substance, we the shadows. 

WORDSWORTH. 



Nor less the Painter, with his brush, can spread 
Enchantment round him, studious still to trace 
Each form of grandeur and supernal grace ; 

Where light and shade their blended beauties shed 
O'er depth and distance, posture, limb, and face ; 

Till Mind, the great Invisible, portrayed, 

Stands brightly forth, in living light arrayed. 
Thoughts, evanescent as the frown, or smile, 

On beauty's changeful cheek, love, joy, hope, fear, 

In lasting colours fixed, unchanging here, 
Inform with life the canvass ; and beguile 

Far distant strangers, ages hence, whose praise 
Can ne'er the artist reach, lone laid, the while, 

In death's dark realms, unconscious of their gaze. 



MORNING WALK. 



Go, breathe the morning air, and feel its touch, 
On thy wan cheek, more soothing to the soul, 
Than sleep, or medicine, to the languid frame. 



Though wild scenes charm, yet dearer far to me 
The quiet walk, in spring tide, through the glade, 
At early dawn, when forest birds have made 

Yon grove harmonious with wild notes of glee. 

7* 



/© SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

There, all unseen, I wander in the shade, 

To gaze on nature, in her charms arrayed, 
Mid hum of insects, and the murmuring bee ; 

To breathe the freshness of the morning air, 
With odours, wafted from each budding tree, 

And opening wild flower, — rich beyond compare. 

In dewy lustre bright, and perfumed sweet as fair. 
Existence then is pleasure ; and to be 
Suffices, in that joyous reverie 

Of waking dreams, and thoughts unknown to care. 



EVENING WALK. 
I. 



Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt 

In solitude, when we are least alone. byro.v, 



Nor less thy charms, O Nature ! touch the heart 
Of thoughtful youth, what time the balmy air 
Of twilight bids his wandering steps repair 

To sylvan shades ; and draws, with gentle art, 

His willing thoughts from grovelling cares apart, 
To gaze on ether, and the lonely star 
Of Hesper, urging, in his pearly car, 

Through realms of beauty, his unwearied race. 
Mind then its piercing glance can send afar, 
Past earth's close confines, and the gates unbar 

Of highest heaven ; while Fancy pants to trace, 
In realms unknown of being yet to be, 
" Those thoughts that wander through eternity, 

Alike unbounded, or in time, or space. 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



II. 



Wherefore darts the mind,. 
With such resistless ardour to embrace 
Majestic forms ? a ken side. 



Deem not such thoughts abstruse unknown to youth : 

Sense of Infinitude is to the mind 

Innate, essential, fixed, though undefined, 
Its fountain nature, and its issues truth. 

Man is not wholly flesh ; but deep enshrined 
Lie powers illimitable, thoughts that dwell 
Native in man, and indestructible, — 

The thoughts of boundless wisdom, goodness, power 
Rays are they of divinity, a flame, 
That to the heavens aspiring, whence it came, 

New strength acquires with each revolving hour : 
Centre and source alike of worth and fame, 

Of all that, rising into good or great, 

Transcends the narrow bounds of mortal date. 



WALK IN WINTER. 
I. 

Mother severe of infinite delights. Thompson". 

Tis winter, and the mid-day's dazzling light 
Is flashing from the pure incrusted snow : 
Though cold, yet bracing, are the winds that blow, 

Grateful to youth, exulting in its might. 



80 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

Fanned by the boreal blasts, in healthful glow 
Of ruddy cheeks, we climb the sylvan height, 

Wild joys to share, which winter can bestow. 
Plenteous on those, who shrink not, with affright, 

From scenes which awe, yet rouse, the daring soul. 
A voice as of the mighty deep is here ; 
The winds are busy mid the branches sere, 

Their huge tops swaying, onward as they roll, 
Prelusive of the swelling clouds that bear 
Heaven's stormy music on the troubled air. 



II. 



Wandering 1 , at eve, with finely frenzied eye, 
Beneath some vast old tempest-swinging wood ! 

COLERIDGE. 



Power rouses kindred power the soul within : 
No tamer pleasures can with his compare 
Who sends his soaring thoughts abroad, to dare 

The turbulence of nature, and to win, 

Mid tumult of the tempest's angry din, 

Enjoyment, in the consciousness of power, 

Self-held ; to highest might then most akin, 
When worst assailed, in danger's darkest hour. 
Weak minds, beneath the coming storm, may cower 

But bolder spirits rise to keener life, 

And feel, with each assault, fresh vigour spring ; 

Self-poised, like yonder eagle, mid the strife 
Of warring winds, that rush, in vain, to wring 
One feather from his broad imperial wing ! 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 8 1 



THE OCEAN. 



Calm, or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, 
Icing the pole, or, in the torid clime, 
Dark-heaving — boundless, endless, and sublime. 

BYRON. 



Bred inland, I had reached my fifteenth year, 
Ere yet the waves of ocean on my sight 
Rolled in their glory. My intense delight, 

When first I saw those living waves uprear 

Their crested heads, lives in my memory clear, 
As seen but yesterday. Along the shore, 

The storm had wrecked its fury ; and the day, 
New risen, looked wildly on the angry roar 

Of ocean, thundering on that rock girt bay. 
My spirit was not by the scene subdued, 

But kindled rather ; as dilating wide % 

It rose, o'er ocean's boundless amplitude, 

In might of mind, with power, as if to ride, 

Triumphant, master-like, above the tide. 



II. 



I could have fancied that the mighty <leep 
Was e'en the gentlest of all gentle things. 

WORDSWORTH. 



Again I sought that headland's rocky crest 
O'erlooking ocean, — silent and alone, 
Where human habitation there was none, 

Nor work of man. The sun was in the west 



82 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

The waves lay slumbering on the parent breast ; 

The winds, that late had swept the deep, were flown, 
Each to his cave : all nature seemed at rest. 

Thoughtful I watched the steady ebb and flow, 
That, far as eye could reach, or thought extend, 

Rolled on, in calmness, and in power below, 
Power without effort, motion without end ; 

Which, as I gazed, seemed, God-like, still to grow 
On my awed thoughts, — till ocean's mildest mood, 
Serene in grandeur, all my soul subdued. 

THE WHITE HILL S. 



Rugged she is, but fruitful nurse of sons 
Magnanimous ; nor shall these eyes behold, 
Elsewhere, an object dear, and sweet as she. 

COWPER'S ODYSSEY. 

Thy varied scenes blend grace, my native land J 
With grandeur ; here the tranquil lake, 
And there the roaring torrent, — streams that break, 

Impetuous rushing, from thy mountain strand, 

With headlong force, that scoops the yielding sand, 
And wears down granite. Lo ! where towering nigh, 

His shoulders mantled with yon swelling cloud, 

Whence lightnings flash, and thunders roar aloud, 
Mount Washington ascends his native sky ! 

Armed with the avalanche, he sweeps afar 

Man and his works, — his caverns stored with snow, 

Coeval with the rock. Like some lone star, 
Above the storm, he looks on earth below, 

Serene in silence, from his throne on high. 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 83 



II. 



Above me are the Alps, 
The palaces of nature, whose vast walls 
Have throned eternity in icy halls 
Of cold sublimity. byron. 



Serene, sublime, in silence, from thy throne, 

Thou look'st, dread monarch ! wide o'er earth around, 

Deep awe inspiring, awe till now unknown, 
Dark, Undefined, that humbles to the ground 

Aspiring pride. Man's spirit bows before 

Such majesty of might, nor labours more 

To measure strength with heaven. Earth's giant brood, 

The Titan monsters, on their beds of fire, 

Pressed by thy stern rebuke, in vain aspire 
To shake thee from thy seat : the lava flood, 
Deep heaving from the centre, unsubdued, 

Moves not thy steadfast base ; nor tempests dire, 
Tornade, and torrent, thundering at thy side, 
Change thy stern brow, severe in lordly pride. 



III. 



My joy is in the wilderness to breathe 

The difficult air of the iced mountain's top. byron. 



What are thy thoughts, proud mount ! as with a frown, 
Darkening with dread the distant vales below, 
Thou lower'st, thus sternly, on our march, while slow 

We climb the steep ascent 1 Would'st thou send down 



84 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

Some bolt of vengeance from thy rocky crown, 

To crush our daring course ? Proud mountain ! know 
Man is thy master : freely shall he go 

High o'er thy topmost towers ; and thou shalt find, 

In these frail forms, sublimities of mind, 
That dwarf thy giant bulk ; a brighter ray, 

More lofty heights, enduring powers, that last 

When mountains moulder, and their pride is past. 
Mind over matter holds e'en here its sway, 
E'en here commands, while subject realms obey. 



IV. 



Mind, mind alone, — bear witness earth and heaven, — 
The living fountain in itself contains, . 
Of beauteous and sublime. akenside. 



Alike in generous feeling and high thought 
The grand, the lofty, the sublime we see : 
Yon mighty mountain towers less gloriously, 

Than he, — - the patriot chief, ■- — whom nations sought 
Vainly to honor by such monument. 

In native virtue great, he stood the same, 

When fortune frowned on worth, as when she lent 

Her aid, how needless ! to augment his fame. 
Nor, in the eye of reason, is the toil 

Of humbler virtue, in the vale of life, 

Where modest worth can passion's onset foil, 

And truth maintain with error's hosts the strife, 
Less glorious, than the fame that patriots gain 
In camp, or court, high hall, or battle plain. 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 85 



THE MOUNTAIN STREAMS. 



The Mountain is awake ; and hark ! his voice 
Rings like a giant's, joyous in his sport, — 
Joyous, yet changeful still ; in torrents here, 
Loud thundering, whispering there, in gentle rills, 
That, soft as zephyr's sigh, breathe love and joy 
And gladness to all hearts. 



The Mountains yield no fairer sight 

Than, mid these steep alcoves, 
Th' unnumbered streams that burst to light, 

Where'er my foostep roves. 

Bright waters from the mountain urns, 
Come rushing down each glen, 

Where'er the eye delighted turns, 
In crouds like moving men. 

And full of life, as human forms, 

Rejoicingly and gay, 
Alike in sunshine and in storms, 

They speed along their way. 

Each tiny rill leaps lightly down, 

All careless of the shock ; 
And laughs amid the sullen frown 

Of precipice and rock. 

And pausing now its waters lay, 

A moment at my feet, 
Spread mirror-like, then haste away 

Its kindred streams to meet. 
8 



86 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

Still onward swiftly as they pass, 

Each joins his fellow rill ; 
Till, swollen at length, the mighty mass 

Sweeps down the sundered hill. 

The fount that scarce sufficed to cool 
My burning breast e'en now, 

A headlong torrent, scorning rule, 
Bursts from the mountain's brow. 

What late, with light or careless stride, 

The foot of youth had crost, 
Rolls soon, a deep and rapid tide, 

Afar, in distance lost ! 

And is not human life portrayed 

In this fair stream aright ; 
As gushing from its parent glade, 

And sparkling into light, 

It sweeps with gathering strength along, 

Oft flashing into wrath ; 
Like manhood, swelling, deep as strong, 

Along its sounding path. 

How changed, from when, all life and glee, 

Its waters leaped for joy ; 
Rejoicing, from its fount set free, 

Like heart of happy boy ! 

Subsiding into milder mood, 

It wanders o'er the plain, 
Till tamed by toil, by time subdued, 

It mingles with the main. 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 87 

Thus time will urge life's gliding bark 

Still onward to the sea ; 
Till lost amid thy billows dark, 

Unknown Eternity ! 

Alas ! for men's impatient mind, 

Impatient as the stream, 
That hastes to leave youth's joys behind, 

For manhood's darker dream. 

But I, not yet, will quit thy side, 

Fair streamlet ! sporting free, 
Pleased rather, longer to abide, 

Amid the hills with thee. 

Methinks, in these deep solitudes, 

Might nymph or dryad dwell, 
Where no rude step of man intrudes, 

To break fair fancy's spell. 

E'en now, from yonder distant glen, 

A voice is in mine ear; 
Unheard in haunts of busy men, 

Deep felt in silence here. 

Tis nature's self, with soft control, 

That speaks in that deep voice ; 
That bids her son, with kindling soul, 

In all her works rejoice. 

And gladly his fond heart believes 

Such promptings from above ; 
Her charms explores, her truth receives 

And triumphs in her love. 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



Each shade of discontent retires, 
With sorrows troubled dreams ; 

While hope revives, and high desires 
Flash bright as mountain streams. 



SCEJVES FROM THE PAST 



ig©@3s ^mniEE)© 



s : 



CONTENTS. 

The Senior— Developement of the Poetic Faculty — Design and Execu- 
tion — Poetic Feelings — Benefactions of Genius — The Prophets — Milton — 
Homer — -Tasso — Shakspeare — Pope— Poetic Inspiration — Free Enquiry 
— Doubt — The Birth of Truth — Metaphysics — Original Genius — Imita- 
tion — Moral Truth — Dut) r — Conscience — Virtue — Knowledge — My Chum 
— College Friendships — The Farewell — The Departure — The Centennial 
Celebration — Conclusion. 



"ff W ffi DB 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



BOOK THIRD. 



THE SENIOR. 



The fields, e'en now, are white with waving- grain 
Then thrust thy sickle, busy reaper ! in, 

And cradle largely, on the cultured plain, 
The rich ripe harvest that thy toil must win. 



My senior year was studious, bent to gain 
Whate'er my careless hours had lost before ; 
Industrious, to make good the needed store 

Of studies, valued now, though urged in vain 

By age on greener years. The idle train 

Of confident and vaunting thoughts, no more, 
Hold in the mind, the sway they held of yore : 

Yet not the less does confidence remain, 

By time now more assured. The Senior feels 
His rising consequence ; each act reveals, 

In pride of place, the vigour that, of right, 

Claims precedence ; but deeply conscious now 

That toil must arm him for the coming fight, 
Labour is written on his thoughtful brow. 



92 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



DESIGN AND EXECUTION. 

" He spake, and it was done I" not so 

When man, the maker, would endue 
His thought with life. Imperfect, slow, 

And still to inward sense untrue, 
His words and deeds oft half conceal 
The thoughts they purpose to reveal. 

Performance is at best the halting slave 
Of high Endeavour ; impotent to speak 
The mind's foregone conceptions, all too weak 

The forms to fix which glowing fancy gave : 

'Twas hence the dying Maro would not save 
Th' unfinished JEneid from devouring flames, 

So far his high performance fell below 

His mind's proud aim ! and hence the tears that flow 
From thee, young Ammon ! while ambition claims 

New worlds for conquest, that thy deeds may show 
Semblance of thy high thoughts. Compound of pride 

And diffidence, of weakness joined with power, 

Man soars and sinks, th' immortal of an hour, 
Though finite, to the infinite allied. 

POETIC FEELINGS. 



Well, let them fade : I can replace, 

With brighter visions, those that vanish now, 
And multiply, at will, their rainbow hues. 
What need I more ? 

" Many are poets, who have never penned 
Their inspirations, and perhaps the best."* 
Such " silent poets,"t lyrists of the breast, — 

These "mute inglorious Miltons,"| know to blend. 
* Byron. t Wordsworth. $ Gray. 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 93 

In their own bosoms, harmonies that lend 

To life enchantment : skilled o'er all to fling 
The magic of romance, self-satisfied, 
They ask not ampler scope for power or pride ; 

" Unlaurelled upon earth,"* they spread their wing 
For loftier flight, rejoiced to leave behind 
" That last infirmity of noble mind,"f 

The weakness that, in fame, seeks guerdon due 
To generous aims ; which Genius still should find 

In his own joyous thoughts and feelings true. 



II. 



There is a pleasure in poetic pains, 
Which only poets know. cowper. 



Not for applause of men, or triumphs vain 
Of shouting multitudes, doth genius toil : 
Self-crowned, the conscious victor wins the spoil, 
And wears the garland, when high thoughts attain 
Developement within. If there they reign, 

There triumph still, what matters it to him 
That others scorn his raptures, or would fain, 
With envy's murky cloud, his glories dim ? 
Little heeds he, — that blind old bard, whose dreamt 
Nightly Urania visits, with bright gleams 

Surpassing mortal, — w T hat the Belial crew - 
Of earth-prone grovellers of his vision deems : 
Enough for him, that still bright fancy teems ; 
He asks not audience large, but fit, though few. 
* Byron. f Milton, 



94 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



BENEFACTIONS OF GENIUS. 



Tis to create, and in creating live 
A being- more intense, that we endow 
With form our fancy. B'/ron. 



Yet has true genius still the generous aim 
To share its treasures with the world of men 
And hence each wrapt enthusiast of the pen, 

That small, but potent instrument of fame, 

Traces, in lines of light and living flame, 
Bright forms of fancy, to the vulgar ken 

Else inaccessible : yet, once portrayed, 
They live forever, peopling each low glen 

And dark recess, with purest forms divine 

Of grace and grandeur — fated still to shine, 
When he, their mighty maker, in the shade 

Sleeps, all unconscious of his high renown : 
Say rather, that his spirit now hath made 

New conquests, winning yet a brighter crown. 



THE PROPHETS. 



They grow like the cedar of Leban< >n — 

Even in old age, they bring forth fruit ; 

They are green and full of sap. noyes' psalms. 



The Hebrew bards and prophets, in my breast 
First roused poetic feeling, while I mused 
On orient splendours, o'er their page diffused. 

In colours gorgeous as the glowing west 

O O DO 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 95 

Shed ever, at the setting sun's behest. 

Sublime, pathetic, lovely, deep infused 

With earnest thought, from earth's low bondage looser 
They rise, on wings of fire, to realms of rest. 

The touching tenderness of David, shown 
In grateful praise, or sorrow sore exprest 

For sinful deed ; Job's high indignant tone 

Of injured virtue ; Amoz' daring son, 
And he, who wept their woes at Babylon, 

I loved them all, all other bards unknown. 



MILTON. 



On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues, 
In darkness, and with danger compassed round, 
And solitude. paradise lost. 



Trained in the Hebrew schools, and from their well 
Drawing deep draughts, came Milton ; prophet, fired 
With kindred ardour, and, if less inspired, 

Not less poetic. His the notes that swell 

Angelic anthems : powers, in heaven that dwell, 
Breathe life around him : high his genius towers 
With Satan, warring now 'gainst heavenly powers, 

And now triumphant on the throne of hell. 
Clad in sublimity of daring thought, 

Yet could he wreath, at will, his harp with flowers, 

Lovely as Eve in Eden, mid the bowers 

Of primal innocence. Such beauty, fraught 

With sweet attractive grace and softness, ne'er 

Tempered before such majesty austere. 



96 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

HOMER. 
I. 

Oft from th ; Ionian peasant did he beg, 
Ay, beg, and was denied, the food and rest 
Frail nature craves : yet him, the rhapsodist, 
Chance-fed, and hovel-sheltered, Time hath crowned 
Immortal among men. 

My young poetic reading was confined, 

Long time, to Homer, — in the garb arrayed 

Of Pope's mellifluous English, — where displayed, 

In glowing forms, the Grecian fire, combined, 

With modern art and manners more refined, 

Could charm at once and rouse me Greece and Troy 

In combat mingling on the Dardan plain, 
iEneas, Hector, the fond father's joy, 

The fair Andromache's presaging fear, 
Proud Agamemnon, base Thersites' vein, 

Wronged Menelaus, lovely Hellen's tear, 
Soft Paris flying, brave Sarpedon slain, 

Ulysses, Ajax, Nestor, Priam's age, 

Petroclus slaughtered, and Achilles' rage. 

II. 



Him partially the Muse 
And early loved, yet gave him good and ill 5 
She quenched his sight, but gave strains divine. 

COWPER'S ODYSSEY. 



Nor less the Olympian powers my thoughts engage 
Jove, Juno, Phoebus, Neptune's wide domain ; 
Swart Vulcan, limping mid the glittering train 

Of throned divinities ; Minerva sage, 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 97 

Alike with valour and deep thought imbued ; 
The rolling Xanthus, with his billowy rage 

Ingulfing armies, yet by man subdued ; 
Chaste Dian, huntress of the sylvan plain, 
Mars, Venus, Saturn, Pluto's gloomy reign ; 

The myriad forms, that, peopling earth and air, 
Unseen yet present, rule o'er earth and main, 

Whose adverse aid contending armies share ; 
These fired my fancy, wrapt in visions high 
Of warring Gods, and councils of the sky. 



T A S S O. 



Glory without end 
Scatters the clouds ; and on that name attend 
The tears and praises of all time. byron. 



Tasso first opened, on my wondering gaze, 
Thy world, O Chivalry ! till then unknown ; 
Romance and knightly faith, the valour shown 

On mortal and immortal foes ; the blaze 

Of that fierce fire, which burned in elder days, 

And still, though softened, wide o'er earth hath thrown 
Bright sparkles of high honour, that atone, 

Haply, for deeds else winning little praise ; 
Wild deeds of frantic passion, war, and strife, 
By reckless valour waged, in scorn of life. 

Nor less 'twas his on gentler themes to dwell 
Of tender love, the bard, whose heart aspired 
To match with prince's blood, till passion fired 

His soul to madness in his narrow cell. 
9 



98 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

SHAKSPEARE. 
I. 

I am the king- himself, — 
Ay, every inch a king. lear. 

Would that my verse were worthier, while I sing 
Thy praise^ O Shakspeare ! so thine ear might lend 
No unpleased audience, while my numbers blend 
Thy wood notes wild, with sounds that faintly ring 
From feebler harps. -Thou, e'en in wildest mood, 
Art still to nature true, thy mind imbued 
With inbred wisdom : not earth's sagest pen 
More true to life, than thy pervading ken, 

That glanced o'er earth, and all its movements view'd. 
The many-branching maze of human thought 
To thee lay open ; thy keen eye had caught 

Each subtle turn, and all its paths pursued ; 
Till highest truths, in richest fancy drest, 
Lived in each thought, and all thy soul possest. 



II. 



When he speaks, 
The air, a chartered libertine, is still ; 
And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears. 
To steal his sweet and honied sentences. 

HENRY V. 



Not greatly did he err, the priest, who said 
His Bible, and thy page to him sufficed, 
Shakspeare ! for knowledge : other books he prized. 

But these were peerless ; these he daily read 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 99 

For truths, divine and human ; well advised 
That wisdom here, as at the fountain head, 
Her pure streams poured, her richest verdure spread. 

Bright child of fancy ! sporting on the verge 
Of utmost sense, 'tis thine, at will, to stray, 
Familiar through all bounds, nor lose thy way ; 

Or, haply lost, yet quickly to emerge 
From seeming darkness to unclouded day ; 

Broad as man's nature, thy capacious soul 

Surveyed all worlds, and harmonized the whole. 



POPE. 



Late, very late, correctness was our care — 
E'en copious Dryden knew not, or forgot, 
The last and greatest art, the art to blot. 

IMITATIONS OF HORACE. 



With rays refulgent, in the realms of fame, 

Shines Pope's bright star. Albeit not first in place. 
Yet high, among the mighty, stands that name, 

By few surpassed. What though there fail the race 

Of giant genius, in their stead we trace 
No pigmy brood ; and Pope o'er these may claim 

Justly preeminence. With judgment clear, 
Bright wit, and satire keen, if daring thought 

And lofty fancy less in him appear, 
His aim not less was worthy ; wisely taught, 

" He stooped to truth, and moralized his song ;" 
And hence his muse, in strains that will not die, 

Breathes love of virtue, manly, generous, strong, 
With scorn for vice, though throned, or mitred high. 



100 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

POETIC INSPIRATION. 
I. 

The vision and the faculty divine. Wordsworth. 

Tis the prerogative of genius still 
To waken imitation ; to infuse 
In others kindred feelings, and produce 

In all like ardour. At the muses' rill 

Not long I drink, delighted, ere the thrill 
Of transport fires me. How can I refuse 
When Homer calls, or Maro ? Milton's muse 

Speaks, monarch-like, with potency of will, 

That brooks not question ; Shakspeare's magic strain 
Of deep enchantment, never heard in vain, 

Wakes kindling thoughts ; nor soon, nor long forgot, 
Is Moore's bright fancy, Byron's stormful power, 

Burns, Southey, Campbell, Crabbe, the minstrel Scott, 
Nor Wordsworth, thoughtful in his rural bower. 



II. 



From heaven descends 
The flame of genius to the human breasi. 
And love, and beauty, and poetic joy, 
And Inspiration. ' akenside. 



Hence not with borrowed lustre, but from fire 
Self-kindled, in his own pure heart to burn, 
The bard must warm his fancies ; nor can turn 

For aid to others' thoughts, who would aspire 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 101 

To strike, with fearless hand, the living lyre. 

The fountains of deep thought within, unsealed, 
Must pour their treasures forth. Bright truths lie hid, 

Pure, unadulterate, in depths concealed 
Of self-confiding souls ; and spring, unbid, 

In music forth, to earnest hearts revealed, 
That heed their promptings : not the parrot strain 
Of mock-bird imitation, weak as vain ; 

But truths of thought and feeling, such as rise, 

Spontaneous springing in the good and wise. 



III. 



Yet was poetic impulse given 

By the green hill, and clear blue heaven. scott. 



What wonder if, so nurtured mid the quire 
Of heaven-throned poets, my young hopes would fain 
Grasp kindred power, ambitious to attain 

The rare found honors of the sounding lyre. 

Not that my muse presumptuous dared aspire, 
In wildest dream, to swell the epic strain : 
The love of nature waked a gentler train 

Of milder contemplations ; while the fire 
Of youthful feeling, warm in passion's glow, 
Fused my rough verse, and taught its strains to flow. 

Lone walks in autumn, joyous sports in spring, 
Soft twilight's balmy breath, old ocean's roar, 
The wild wood's wilder music, and far more, 

Thy smile, O Beauty ! taught my heart to sing. 

9* 



102 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



IV. 



Oft have I bade the Muse farewell ; 
And sought as oft her haunted eell ; 
Oft lingered, till her partial smile 
Could grief assuage, and care beguile. 



True liegeman of the Muse did ne'er proclaim 
Her favours few, or worthless. Though on few 
Her richest gifts she showers, to such is due 

Justly the recompence of lasting fame. 

Earth knows no splendour purer than the flame 
That radiates from the brow of bard divine, 

When, from the fount within, clear, sparkling, strong, 

He pours o'er life's dull wastes the tide of song. 
Yet not to such the muse's gifts confine, 

Nor deem to these alone her joys belong : 

The ocean tides, on each wide shore that beat, 

Have yet their smaller waves, and streams that fill 

Each creek and inlet : haply some bright rill 
May reach, at times, e'en this my far retreat. 



FREE INQUIRY 



He is the freeman whom the truth makes free, 
And all are slaves beside. cow pick. 



Truth dwells with reason, in the pure clear light 
Of free inquiry ; Error in the den 
Of power despotic, where the minds of men. 

By force, by fraud, by superstition's might, 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 103 

Are dwarfed, and dwindle from their native height. 
Man's primal attribute, which tongue and pen 

Alike should vindicate, is fearless thought. 
All else is false, or worthless : life is vain, 
If custom, creed, opinion's galling chain, 

Bow down the soul, with fear of change inwrought. 
Force wounds the mind, worse than the body's pain, 

With sense of wrong intolerable fraught. 

Claim then, O man ! as birthright of mankind, 
Freedom of thought, and fearlessness of mind. 



DOUBT. 



Modest doubt is called 
The beacon of the wise. shakspeare. 



Doubts spring, full oft, with knowledge ; and extend 
Furthest in strongest minds ; the minds that soar 
Highest for truth, and subtlest thoughts explore : 

Hence new inquiries, questions without end, 

And doubts, still springing, as their issues tend 
To adverse answers ; marring oft the store 
Of past acquirements, valued now no more, 

Deemed false, uncertain, or of small avail. 
Yet fear not thence the issue, so thy mind, 
On truth intent, to virtue be inclined. 

The winds of doubtful doctrine may assail 

Truth's flexile branches ; but the trunk and root 
Gain strength by agitation, and the fruit, 

Mid storms of error ripened, ne'er can fail. 



104 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

THE BIRTH OF TRUTH. 
I. 

I will speak ; that 1 may be relieved. no yes' job. 

Who hath not felt, at times, his mind o'erwrought 

With inbred agony of stirring thought ; 

With consciousness that Truth, pent up within, 

Burns in his breast, like burthen of deep sin, 

And must be forth ? Though oft reproach and pain 

Wait on the births of time, yet, in his brain, 

The germ of nascent truth is struggling still 

For form and utterance — moulding thought and will, 

Unseen, deep felt, with nature's plastic power, 

In darkness working sure ; till lo ! the hour 

Predestined comes, when fire-eyed Truth to life 

Springs, Pallas-like, all armed for instant strife ; 

For strife with error armed, the Titan brood 

Of vice and folly, foiled, but unsubdued. 



II. 



Truth, like virtue, can be won 
But by resolute endeavour : 

Error's waves, that round her run, 
Foam, and roar, but move her never 

Calm she stands, mid passion's shock, 

Firm, unshaken as the rock. 



Like giant sentinels, stand Fear and Doubt, 
Ever at Truth's strong gates : who enters here 
Must Doubt subdue, nor shrink, o'ercome, by Fear 

Else shall he dwell despairingly without, 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 105 

In darkness dwell, with fear and headlong rout ; 

With blind uncertainty, and error's brood 

Of vice in league with folly. These subdued, 
No foe remains : Truth's portals wide unfold, 

And lo ! the Goddess radiant on her throne. 
The clouds dissolve, by misty error rolled 

Round human thought, and doubt and dread are flown 
Truth smiles, well pleased, on Virtue at her side ; 
And bright eyed Beauty, pleasure's rosy bride, 

Comes, joy-attended, to pale fear unknown. 

METAPHYSICS. 



" My mind is my kingdom" — then surely 'tis meet 
Its wants to examine,, its wealth to explore ; 

To trace up its streams, through each winding retreat. 
Its vales for rich pasture, its mountains for ore. 



Long time, I laboured in the darksome mine 
Of deep enquiry ; fruitful oft times found 
In error ; fruitful more, in thoughts profound 

And truths of highest worth ; truths at whose shrine 

Mind bows in homage, as to power divine. 

No narrow range my ardent search could bound ; 

Nor toils subdue, nor coward fears debar 

My eager quest, through realms of thought afar, 
Mid gloom of darkness, o'er entangled ground, 

With subtle disputants, in wordy war, 

So doubt but lead, at last, to doctrines sound. 

Each rising light I hailed, each wandering star, 
Thy sons, O Genius ! blazing bright around, 
So bright, alas ! they dazzle and confound, 



106 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



II. 



Though hard the Soil, and cold the clime may be, 
Tis native to the thoughtful and the free ; 
And rich the products studious toil may gain 
From wastes, that frown along that bleak domain. 



Hobbes' startling paradox, and power intense 

Of compact thought ; Locke's free and fearless mind 
Hume's subtle truth and sophistry refined ; 

The rugged ore of Butler's sterling sense ; 

Smith's glow of sympathetic eloquence ; 

Reid's power of patient thought, devoid of art ; 
The graceful Stewart's polished mind and heart, 

Could each, in turn, to me its aids dispense : 
My aim, through all, the secret haunts to win 
Of human nature, and the world within ; 

That master science, whence all others flow, 

That central height sublime, where spreading wide, 
In varied prospect, seen on every side, 

Thy realms, O Thought ! lie clear and bright below. 

ORIG IN A X GENIUS. 



I will not jump with common spirits. 
Nor rank me with the barbarous multitudes. 

SHAKSPEARE. 



Hobbes' said, nor need we here his speech gainsay 
" If I had read as much as other men, 

I should have known as little !" Prone to stray, 
Dogmatic, cold, contemptuous, yet his pen 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 107 

Traced even his own thoughts ; no babble vain 
Of idle words, or senseless sounds inane, 

But clear, precise, with pregnant meaning fraught, 
His own, and not another's. He might err, 
None more, or wider ; but he knew to stir, 

In other minds, the germs of living thought ; 
And this is Genius : yet he failed in part, 

And that the noblest ; reason's power alone, 

The hard, dry intellect, to him was known, 
Unconscious, or disdainful of the heart. 



II. 



Though Wit, in pleasure's laughing- bower, 
Springs free, mid social mirth, 

Tis Contemplation's lonely hour 
Gives thoughtful Genius birth. 



Genius is nursed in solitude : the mind, 
Turned inward on itself, intently draws, 
From close observance of thought's inmost laws, 

The nature, structure, wants of human kind. 

Here first wakes Genius, — offspring rare, combined 
Of head and heart, of thought that overawes, 

With deep intensest feeling closely joined. 

Hence truths unborrowed, thoughts in words once breathed. 
That glow with life, to latest time bequeathed. 

Drawn from this centre of enduring thought, 

Flow streams perennial : hence hath beauty, fraught 
With living lustre, round young genius wreathed 

Her lasting laurels, wide as land and main, 

Monarch unquestioned, over all to reign. 



108 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

IMITATION. 

True to the jingling of our leader's bells. cowper. 

Genius draws truth from nature : her impress, 
Stamped on the page, transfers the living mind ; 

But Imitation still her forms would dress 
In mimickry of life ; for truth designed, 
Yet leaving truth alike and life behind. 

How few think for themselves ! the common class, 
On novelty intent, with nothing new, 
Where custom leads, the beaten track pursue, 

There only following where all others pass. 

What are the books we read, the nameless mass ? 
Mere show, not substance ; forms, in shape and hue 

Grotesque, fantastic, seen in folly's glass, 
Copies of copies, shadows of a shade, 
By each transmission still more worthless made. 

MORA L TRUTH. 



Wherefore burns 
In mortal bosom this unquenched hope, 
That breathes, from day to day, sublimer thinga, 
And mocks possession ? akenside. 



In Moral Truths alone man's nature finds 
His highest powers' developement : these ask 
His utmost stretch, to compass their high task, 

And reach in, virtuous action, all that binds, 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 109 

In firm yet gentle bonds, the noblest minds : 

The sense of duty, honor, moral right, 
And virtue's generous aim, the soul's proud flight 

Highest to heaven. Yet lured, by folly's train, 
From wisdom's paths,- to wander mid the night 

Of error's maze, man sinks, subdued by pain, 
By want, remorse, by sorrow's sudden blight : 

Then turns, so disciplined, his thoughts again 

To truer knowledge, eager to attain 
The living radiance of unborrowed light. 



II. 



With Meekness of Wisdom. ST. james. 

The prophet stood on Horeb ; and the force 

Of mighty winds swept by him in their course : 
God was not in the wind. Ere long their came 

A power volcanic, bursting from the source 
Of central fires, that shook earth's solid frame : 
God was not in the earthquake, or the flame. 

Next fell, on the veiled prophet's awe struck ear, 

A still small voice, in accents mild as clear, 
And God was there. His ways are still the same ; 

In gentle whispers, to wise hearts that hear, 
Truth speaks, else mute ; her voice is seldom found 
Where noise, and wrath, and turbulence abound. 

Inferior powers are boisterous ; Truth alone 

Victorious without violence is known. 
10 



110 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



DUTY. 



I asked of mine own heart, if it were so ? 
And, as he said, the living instinct there 
Answered, and owned the truth. southev, 



It ought to be — The world's wide circuit round, 
No tongue exists, no language of mankind, 
Ancient or modern, savage or refined, 

Wherein this thought exists not. How profound 

The sense of right and moral duty found 

In this brief phrase, It should be done ! The mind 
Feels here the strongest motive that can bind 

The Will to moral action, — else unbound, 
And free to move, as fancy leads the way, 
As passion prompts, or selfish interests sway. 

Not so with Duty : she, as in a tower 
Of strength impregnable, above the play 
Of adverse passions, knows but to obey 

The voice of Conscience and the Moral Power. 



CONSCIENCE. 



And I will place within them, as a guide, 
My umpire Conscience. milton. 



Of man's mixed nature an essential part 
Is Conscience, seated in the human heart, 

Life to direct, and over all preside. 
Good to the virtuous, to the evil pain, 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. Ill 

Is hers to give, who never gives in vain. 

In error's paths, when mortals wander wide, 
Her voice corrective calls their steps again 

To virtue back. Tis passion that misleads 
The native rectitude of human thought, 
Else seldom erring. In God's image wrought, 

And fashioned to his will, man's thoughts and deeds, 
Though weak and wavering oft, are virtuous still, 
If duty sway, and conscience rule the will : 

Nor other guide he needs, so ruled and taught. 



II. 



Life of our life, our monitor and judge. southey. 

Conscience is Thought and Feeling, fused entire : 
Thought, piercing, clear of sight, discerning sure 
The true from false ; and Feeling, earnest, pure, 

By selfish aim unmoved, and low desire ; 
The union just of man's whole moral frame, 
Harmonious mingling here, like fire and flame ; 

Bright as the flame, and warming like the fire. 
Reason is cold, till passion touch the pile, 
And thought explodes in action : rank and file 

To range the thoughts, in forms of seemly art, 
Is reason's task ; but in the heart reside 

The springs of action : be it then thy part, 

So to direct the issues of the heart, 

That virtuous feeling may be still thy guide. 



112 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



III. 



This light and darkness in our chaos joined, 
Who shall divide ? The God within the mind. 

POPE. 



The right of conscience over human minds 
Is paramount and sovereign : had she power, 
As she has right, the world would be her dower 

But strength too oft is wanting : Interest blinds, 

Hope's meteors dazzle, Sophistry refines, 
And Passion urges with impetuous sway, 
Till Conscience, overborne, at times gives way : 

Yet rallying soon, she ne'er the strife resigns, 
But, in the moment of their triumph, flings, 

Like barbed arrows on her foes infixed, 
Remorse and Guilt's immedicable stings. 

Hope may be theirs, with guilty terrors mixed, 
And impious joys ; but peace is never known, 
Till right returns, and conscience rules alone. 



IV. 



What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy. 
The soul's calm sunshine, and the heartfelt joy. 

POPE. 



Yet was not Conscience given to scourge mankind 
Her noblest office is when man attains 
The height of strenuous duty ; and thence gains 

That crown of glory, which the virtuous find 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 113 

In her approving smile. Life's sharpest pains 
Pass soon, if in the tented wound remains 

No sting of evil thought, to goad the mind : 
Else will its venom gangrene to the core, 
Festering, and self-inflamed, and burning more, 

The longer borne. Guilt's scorching pain 
Nor charm can soothe, nor anodyne allay : 

Roused once to strife, it never sleeps again, 

Till Conscience re-asserts her rightful reign, 
And life reformed takes fear with guilt away. 

VIRTUE. 



O fool and hypocrite ! that seek'st to hide 
From man, from God ! what yet thine evil heart, 
No, not one hour, e'en from itself can veil, 
Thy false and hollow seeming ! 

Heaven's grace in vain by outward act is sought : 
The smoke of sacrifices cannot blind, 
Nor rich oblations move th' all seeing mind : 

; Tis honest purpose, following earnest thought, 

Habitual virtue, into action wrought, 

That wins his favour ; offerings else are vain, 
Penance, or prayer, his favour to obtain. 

Semblance of worth, profession, the mock phrase 

Of false lip service, these may wonder raise, 
In men, short sighted, and their plaudit gain ; 

But He whose eyes the inmost feelings scan, 
Turns with contempt, in pity from such sight. 
With him, 'tis truth alone, and conscious right, 

Virtue, and worth, that sanctify the man. 
10* 



114 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



II. 



For not in humble, nor in brief delights, 

Not in the fading - echoes of renown, 

Power's purple robes, nor pleasure's flowery lap. 

The soul can find contentment. akenside. 



That is not virtue, to which fear inclines, 
Or hope of the reward : the fear of hell, 
The hope of heaven, in mortal breasts may dwell. 

As motives suited to imperfect minds ; 

But love of virtue, when her seat she finds 
In manly hearts, will selfish aims repel, 

And sordid fears : till rising to the height 

Of justice, duty, innate sense of right, 

No meaner powers the free born soul can quell. 

Self sinks abashed, and coward fears take flight, 
At virtue's call ; while generous thoughts impel 

To noblest deeds, that do themselves requite, 
Nor other guerdon asks ; proud to regard 
Life's sternest duty as its best reward, 



KNOWLEDGE. 



Fortune may frown, and fickle friends depart, 
But truth remains, and knowledge cheers the heart. 



Though rough the entrance, and the guide austere, 
Thy paths, O Knowledge ! have been still to me 
The paths of pleasantness and peace : not free 

From toilsome march, and prospects wild and drear, 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 115 

Which time alone could soften and endear ; 

Yet crowned with blossoms, on each spreading tree, 

In promise fair of produce yet to be, 
Rich fruits maturing with each changeful year. 

Knowledge and Virtue, children of one birth, 
Are trained to wisdom in the school of truth : 

The seeds of knowledge, scattered wide o'er earth, 
♦Strike deep their roots in soil of opening youth ; 

And fair, in recompense of early toil, 

The harvests yielded by that generous soil. 

MY CHUM. 



What tragic tears be-dim the eye, 

What deaths we suffer ere we die ! 

Our broken friendships we deplore, 

And loves of youth that are no more. lggajc. 

How strong, in early life, is friendship's claim I 
Ere age has taught disgust, or boding fear 
Finds in each friend a dreaded rival near : 

Not love himself can warmer wishes frame, 

Or wake, in later years, a purer flame. 

Friend of my youth ! whom fondest thoughts endear. 
For thee first felt, while life and love beat here, 

Needs must this heart, at friendship's sacred name, 
To thee revert ; and o'er thy lonely urn, 
Mourn joys departed, never to return. 

Unlike our tempers, and the course we held, 
At times, e'en adverse ; yet was union wrought, 
By fondest sympathy of tender thought, 

That pleasure heightened, and each grief dispelled. 



116 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



II. 



The flint lies useless, till the smitten steel 
Strikes forth its fire : so slumbers oft the mind, 
Till startled into life, by sudden jar 
Of adverse minds, — adverse, but not unfriendly 



Four years we roomed together, we alone 
Of all our class so mated ; three before 
Had known each other ; schooled in classic lore 

On the same bench, our inmost thoughts had grown 

From youth familiar, loved as soon as known : 
Nor e'er came coldness friendship's ties to rend : 

Though differing wide, in temper as in tone, 
Each cherished, to the last, his early friend. 

'Twas passion, true as love, and warm as youth ; 
Yet mixed, like love, with humours, such as urge 
Young earnest hearts, when ardent feelings verge 

On sudden wrath ; but each, intent on truth, 
Saw soon his error, and rejoiced to feel 
New love rekindled by excited zeal. 

COLLEGE FRIENDSHIPS. 



A sage anatomist, and skilled to trace, 
In nerve and tissue, pale disease and death, 
And needful aid supply ; yet none the less 
With gentler thoughts conversant, and alive 
To love's warm charities, and friendship's call. 



Our mutual vows, at youthful friendship's shrine, 

Were warm with generous faith. Would I could give 
To lasting verse, emotions that still live 

In few, but cherished hearts ; Hayward ! in thine, 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 117 

Which knows nor sudden change, nor slow decline ; 
But, true to friendship's claim, can still bestow, 

As erst, its wonted kindness. Words are faint 

The deep devotion of true hearts to paint, 

When youth, still confident, disdains to throw 
One glance of caution on the world below ; 

Nor deems that sordid interest e'er can taint 
The liberal heart, or chill, with selfish fear, 
Love's fervid glow, to youthful bosoms dear ; 

Though free, unchanged, and firm without constraint. 



THE FAREWELL. 



Now go your way, ye gallant company ! 
God and good Angels guard ye as ye go 



Classmates, adieu ! the race is run, 

The promised bounds at length appear : 

And be the prize or lost or won, 

This day must close our brief career ; 
Must close, too soon, our sojourn here, 

And turn our stranger steps aside, 

From Harvard's walls to wander wide. 

The waves of time roll fast away, 

O'er which our parting barks must glide ; 

Aloft our gallant streamers play, 

And we who here, long side by side, 
Have fearless stood, in generous pride 

Of mutual aid, alone, henceforth, 

Must bide our doom, and prove our worth, 



118 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

The world asserts on us its claim, 
On us, its burden now would lay, 

Burden and blessing, toil and fame : 

While him, who shuns the onward way, 
From idle fear, or cold delay, 

Disgrace awaits ; and want shall tend 

The laggard to his journey's end. 

Then plunge amid the eager crowd, 
The thronged array of busy life ; 

Confront the bold, abase the proud, 

Nor shrink from scenes with danger rife, 
Where honour crowns the manly strife : 

Deal but your blows with skill and strength, 

The world will own your power at length. 

Undaunted in a world of wrong, 
Virtue her steady course can hold : 

Though Vice be armed, and Folly strong, 
Their power, by higher power controlled^, 
Shrinks from the manly and the bold, 

From those who win their fearless way, 

Above the crowd's ignoble sway. 

As well ye might young eagles tame, 
When soaring from the parent nest, 

With untired wing, and eye of name, 
As bid us here in quiet rest : 
Our new fledged hopes, to flight addrest, 

Flutter impatient in the air, 

The joys untried of life to share, 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 119 

Rude winds, perchance, may drive, at last, 
Our baffled flight for shelter back ; 

But now, we heed nor threatening blast, 
Nor lowering tempest's angry rack : 
There's none so weak, of spirit slack, 

No craven soul, no idler here, 

Who shrinks from toil, or quails at fear. 

The time may come, when faint and few, 
We too shall tremble on the verge, 

Should youth's bright visions prove untrue, 
And hope lie whelmed beneath the surge : 
But now, not now, such terrors urge ; 

Our onward course is upward still, 

Above the blight of earth-born ill. 

If thoughts of sudden sadness rise, 

To shade with gloom this parting hour ; 

If tears, unbidden, fill our eyes, 
'Tis but affection's genial shower : 
And though awhile such cloud may lower, 

Its rainbow hues, around us cast, 

Shine clear above the parting blast. 

Then friends! farewell. If ne'er again 
We meet on earth, when sundered here, 

Yet oft, from many a distant plain, 

Our thoughts shall turn, through life's career, 
To watch, well pleased, each classmate dear, 

His sorrows soothe, his worth make known, 

And deem his triumphs all our own. 



120 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

Few be those sorrows ; clear and bright 
The paths of triumph that ye tread ; 

Manly your aim, as bold your flight, 
While happy stars serenely shed 
Selectest influence on each head ; 

And, e'en in hours of darkest fate, 

May hope o'er all predominate. 



THE DEPARTURE. 



September 1, 1809. 



Farewell ! a word that must be, and hath been j 
A word which makes us linger, — yet, — farewell 

BYRON. 



And must I leave, in truth, thy classic halls, 

My Alma Mater ! thy parental care, 

So soon forego ? Fain would I breathe thine air, 
Still in these groves ; but other duty calls : 
The hour is come, and lo ! the curtain falls 

On life's prime act. The steed, that must convey 

Thy lingering son, to distant scenes away, 
Stands harnessed at the gate ; he champs the bit, 

Throws high his bridled head, with frequent neigh, 

And paws, impatient of his lord's delay; 
Nor longer now the adverse fates permit. 

Then farewell, Harvard ! — whereso'er I stray, 
Thy spirit be my guide, enlightened, free, 
True nurse of virtue, knowledge, liberty ! 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 121 

THE CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION. 

Septemeer 8, 1836. 



And doth not a meeting- like this make amends 
For all the long years I've been wandering away ? 

To see thus around me my youth's early friends, 
As smiling and kind as in that happy day. 

MOORE. 



Among the thousands I was one, 

A son of Harvard, on the day, 
When twice an hundred years had run, 

Who thronged her festival array. 

No signs of age, or time's decay, 
Saddened her brow ; but in their stead, 

A youthful glow, mild virtue's ray, 
Her venerable face -with joy o'erspread. 

Unchanged, like star, or ocean still, 

That pours its rays, or waves, as bright, 
As pure, as when the shore, and hill, 

Felt first the flood, and hailed the light ; 

A morn, with no preceding night ; 
A sun, that into perfect day 

Soars upward, with resistless might, 
To roll the mental darkness far away. 

Ye lofty domes, ye ancient halls ! 

Learning's secure and calm retreat, 
Glad I revisit your loved walls, 

The muse's home, fair virtue's seat ; 
11 



122 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 

Where oft my youth, in converse meet 
Of kindred souls, the fountains sought 

Of knowledge pure, communion sweet, jj 
In happy interchange of lasting thought. 

How high our young ambition soared ! 

Knowledge acquired, and deathless fame, 
The paths of science wide explored, 

Riches, and power attained^ a name, 

Beloved as honored, and a frame - 
Where health with manly beauty joined ; 

Such lofty hopes we dared proclaim, 
Nor seemed they weak or vain to youth's fond mind. 

Alas how changed ! how swift the flight 

Of trackless time, — since thirty years 
Have vanished, like a star by night, . 

That sparkles, shoots, and disappears. 

The dreams of youth, its hopes, its fears, 
Its fancied joys, and triumphs rife, 

Are gone ; nor more such prospect cheers 
The stern realities of later life. 

Yet manhood, and approaching age 

Have joys that sooth, and hopes that soar, 
Though softened by reflection sage, 

And sobered by experience more. 

If now the aims that roused of yore, 
In reason's eye vain dreams appear, 

Fancy can still their forms restore, 
In hues of youth to grateful memory dear. 



SCENES FROM THE PAST. 123 

But hopes, that firmer grasp their hold, 
And nobler thoughts to age belong : 

High thoughts, that ripening years unfold, 
And cherished hopes, by time made strong : 
And, Harvard ! here amidst the throng, 

The humblest votary in thy train, 
I feel, while swells the parting song, 

Thy spirit hath not touched my heart in vain. 

'Tis not in vain that now I breathe 

Thy classic air amid these glades ; 
That here, these sacred groves beneath, 

Thy spirit all my soul invades. 

'Tis night — but night in vain her shades 
Spreads round us here ; these ancient halls 

The genius of the spot pervades, 
Bright as the rays that stream from yonder walls. 

Radiant as now, with living light 

Still, Harvard ! may thy glories shine : 

Be virtue, honour, freedom, right, 
And faith's pure dictates ever thine : 
Draw still, from learning's richest mine, 

Time's choicest treasure, knowledge, wrought 
Laborious, at truth's inmost shrine. 

By minds untrammelled, with deep wisdom fraught. 



124 SCENES FROM THE PAST. 



CONCLUSION. 



TO THE READER. 

" Is this too much ? stern critic ! say not so :" 

This line of Byron, haply, may presage, 
Reader ! thy thought, which prompts thee to bestow 

Harsh censure on the poet's luckless page. 
Yet pardon, for his sake, th' unfinished strain ; 

To him this retrospect of early days 
Hath pleasure given, unmixed with touch of pain. 

Forgive his raptures, then, who thus can gaze 
On joys long past, till waning years forget 
Their downward course, and life seems youthful yet. 

If tedious prove the strain, 'tis ended here : 
Or, kindlier bent, if further thou would'st go, 

New scenes of wider scope may yet appear, 
" If he that rhymeth now may scribble moe." 



®t?HGIEI£ V®ffiS&£« 



11 



OTHER POEMS 



KING PHILIP. 



We call them savage — O be just ! 

Their outraged feelings scan : 
A voice comes forth, — 7 tis from the dust 

The savage was a man. sprague. 



On Mount Hope, mid his council fires, 

Stood Philip, by the aged oak ; 
Surrounded by his chiefs and sires, 

'Twas thus the indignant warrior spoke : 

Ye messengers ! who here have borne 

The white man's threatenings, — turn again, 

And with you bear the Red Man's scorn, 
The language of his proud disdain. 

A feeble race your fathers came, 
Driven, as ye said, abroad to roam ; 

We nursed you, warmed you, at our flame, 
And gave you on our shores a home. 

Our choicest haunts on hill and plain, 
The stream, the forest, wide and free, 

We gave ; and bade you here remain, 
On terms of frank equality. 



128 KING PHILIP. 

We gave ; though you the deed disguised 
With terms of sale, your pride to save ; 

As if your paltry gifts you prized 
Above the mighty boon we gave. 

Like friends we held you, nay, far more, 
Esteemed your race above our own ; 

As if, descending on our shore, 

The Gods in you their power made known. 

And still ye came, like waves that run, 
Before the storm, along the beach : 

E'en now the flood seems scarce begun, 
That soon above our hills may reach. 

My simple faith, deceived with ease, 
Was early caught, in falsehood's snare ; 

Till all my study was to please 

The white man, and his favour share. 

'Twas therefore took I Christian name, 
And in your foreign language spoke ; 

That so I might, with less of shame, 
Receive, at last, the Christian yoke. 

Ye said that yoke would easy prove, 
And told how light its burdens were ; 

But I have tried your Christian love, 
And know that yoke, how hard to bear. 

In English faith and honour too, 

E'n less of trust can I repose ; 
I stirr have found you base, untrue, 

Friends in your speech, in action foes. 



KING PHILIP. 129 

Your God may stronger prove than mine, 

And triumph to your arms secure ; 
Yet in the Red man's God divine, 

Who taught his warrior to endure. 

The ills, he cannot shun, he knows, 

With stern composure, to sustain : 
Unmoved amidst insulting foes, 

Triumphant over mortal pain. 

I know your strength, yet fear it not, 

The thunder of your deadly arms, 
The vollied blast, death-dealing shot, 

Beyond the powa's subtlest charms. 

Yet not for that will I forego 

These pleasant hills, our forests fair, 

The sea's wild waves, that roll below, 
Our loved abodes, and native air. 

Old ocean, beating at our feet, 

As soon this Hill of Hope shall move, 

As we resign our native- seat, 

Or yield to you the land we love. 

The fount's pure crystal from yon cave, 
That slaked, of yore, our father's thirst, 

Would cease to roll its limpid wave, 
Should we forsake their treasured dust. 

This ancient oak, these moss-grown stones, 
This cherished home of all our race — 

We will not leave our father's bones, 
Nor move them from their resting place. 



130 KING PHILIP. 

Go then, and, in your council hall, 
Repeat, that Philip yet is free ; 

No more deceived, no more your thrall. 
He strikes for Death or Liberty ! 

And if, through all your startled land, 
The Redman's war-cry ring around ; 

If thrown aloft, the blazing brand 

Fall in the blood that stains your ground ; 

Afar and near, if all must die, 
The virgin pure, the tender wife, 

If helpless age, if infancy 

Must plead in vain for forfeit life ; 

Remember, Philip never sought 
The war, he fears not, nor desires : 

On your own heads yourselves have brought 
The death blow, and avenging fires. 

And soon those fires shall blaze on high : 
To rouse our tribes, from south to north, 

My wampum belts, of raven die 

And blood red beads, have travelled forth. 

And answering to our just appeal, 

Their fires are lit, their war notes sung ; 

With hearts, that all your insults feel, 
And nerves for vengeance strung. 

The strife is mortal : henceforth vain 
Be thought of parley, truce, or peace; 

The Red Man conquers, or is slain, . 
He triumphs, or his race must cease. 



LOVE AND GLORY. 131 

He fears not : e'en should foul defeat 
His steps pursue, and false friends fly, 

Philip his last base foe will meet, 

And Mount Hope see her warrior die. 



LOVE AND GLORY. 

Go, saddle my steed, said the brave cavalier, 
Tis the voice of my country, it sounds in my ear, 
It calls me to battle, o'er hills far away, 
And thy Henry, dear Helen ! no longer may stay. 

And must we then sever, said Helen the fair ; 
The sun of our hopes, must it set in despair ? 
Oh ! heed not the trumpet, and silence yon drum ; 
It speaks not of glory, but horrors to come, 

Of carnage and slaughter, and blood covered fields, 
And the weeping of widows the music it yields : 
Then heed not its temptings, but free from alarms, 
Find glory in safety, and love in these arms. 

Oh Helen, fair Helen, my love, he replied, 
More lovely, more fair, as in danger more tried, 
Can'st thou tempt me, unhappy ! my fame to forego, 
That life of my love, from base dread of the foe 1 

The summons to fight should I meanly withstand, 
When the tempest of war hangs in blood o'er the land, 
Could those arms of thy beauty encircle me then, 
The scorn of the lovely, the outcast of men? 



132 LOVE AND GLORY. 

Then go, she replied, since 'tis fortune's decree, 
The leader of armies, the valiant, the free : 
The fame of thy valour, it won me at first, 
I cannot, I will not, to that be unjust. 

The heart of the lovely beats high in its pride, 
As her soft trembling hand belts the sword to his side. 
Then go, she exclaimed, — and may glory still join 
The laurel she wreaths, with the myrtle I twine. 

The warrior hath gone to the field in his might, 
For freedom, his country, her glory to fight ; 
And the heart of fair Helen, in love still the same, 
Now weeps o'er his absence, now joys in his fame. 

From conquest returning, with glory surrounded, 
The fame of that warrior afar hath resounded ; 
But heartless and vain was the joy that he felt, 
Till, joined at the altar, with Helen he knelt. 

Toil, danger, suspense, were forgot in that hour, 
Thy rainbow, O Hope ! spanned their love lighted bower 
The fever of glory by love was beguiled, 
And Henry was happy, if Helen but smiled. 



THE COQUETTE DISTRESSED. 133 



THE COQUETTE DISTRESSED. 



My lovers all tell me I'm handsome and gay, 
They flatter my beauty, which soon will decay, 
They talk of my charms, of their love, and their strife, 
But none ever told me he wanted a wife ! 

I play, and they praise me ; I sing, and they cry 
How charming her voice ! how bewitching her sigh ! 
I join in the dance, they exclaim, how divine ! 
But none never asked me in marriage to join. 

I need but appear on the plain, and they swear 
No form is so perfect, no maiden so fair ; 
I'm followed and flattered, wherever I fly, 
Yet single I live, and ah ! single must die. 

Oh would that this weary flirtation might end ; 
With lovers in plenty, yet never a friend, 
My heart, like the shadow that follows the sun, 
Seeks each in its turn, but rests steady on none. 

Youth, beauty, enjoyment not always will stay, 
My bright dawn of hope, it melts quickly away ; 
Then oh ! ere its happy illusions are past, 
May love fix my wide wandering^wishes at last. 

12 



134 HENRY TO ELLEN. 

HENRY TO ELLEN. 

I. 

Tis still the same, 'twas so of yore, 
True love and fortune ne'er combine : 

Since then, alas ! we meet no more, 
Farewell, dear maid ! no longer mine. 

What though, at first, thy friends esteemed 
Me, humbly born, no mate for thee ; 

Yet by their license, as it seemed, 
Early thy love was pledged to me. 

From cold restraint and caution freed, 
What either felt the other knew : 

So well our secret thoughts agreed^ 
That love, true love, between us grew. 

At first, scarce felt, a gentle heat, 

Which well such youthful hearts became, 

It grew, with growing years, complete, 
And shone in both an equal flame. 

Happy, I cried, whom heaven ordains 

Love's boundless wealth with thee to share ; 

Thy smile shall recompense his pains, 
Thy presence banish grief and care. 

And then I deemed such fortune mine, 
And blest the hours, to care unknown, 



HENRY. 135 

While gazing on that smile of thine, 
And living in thy love alone. 

But fate decrees that we should part ; 

Yet still in kindness let it be : 
Thou wilt not find a truer heart, 

Nor I seek other love than thee. 

Then oh ! farewell ! I would not shade 
Thy coming bliss, with my dark fate ; 

Nor ask thy thoughts to share, dear maid ! 
The griefs that on my wanderings wait. 

When death shall calm this throbbing breast, 
(Glad would I now his terrors brave,) 

Thou wilt not scorn my lowly rest, 
But shed one tear above my grave. 

One tender tear, still fondly true 

To youthful loves, in days of yore, 
To blighted hopes and sorrows due ; 

Then turn, and think of me no more. 



HENRY. 
II. 

Oh ! ask not the cause why so oft I retire, 
If, secret, I weep o'er the days that are past ; 

You see me now cheerful, then do not require 
That joys like the present forever should last. 



136 ELLEN. 

When others are happy, I join in their mirth, 
I feel that their pleasure gives pleasure to me ; 

But further than this, I expect not, on earth, 
Nor hope, like the past, that the future will be. 

For he that has once loved can ne'er love again ; 

The face may, at times, with a smile be o'erspread, 
The wound may be closed, but the scar will remain, 

And the heart in the midst of its pleasures lie dead. 

Then blame not the sadness that sometimes is seen, 
In moments of mirth, o'er my features to steal ; 

Full soon will it pass, and my brow grow serene, 
The smile will return, and my heart cease to feel. 



ELLEN. 



III. 

Shade of my Henry ! hast thou gone, 
And left thy loved one here alone. 
Ah ! when that fatal parting past, 
I little deemed 'twould prove our last. 
We parted — thou o'er ocean borne, 
And I to weep till thy return — 
Till thy return ! in vain, alas, 
I chide the hours that slowly pass, 
And fondly hope these arms, once more, 
May clasp thee, on thy native shore — 



ELLEN. 131 

Never, — unless in dreams, by night, 
Thy form should come, to cheat my sight, 
And in thy watery shroud repair 
From ocean's caves to realms of air. 

Yet come not so ; I could not brook 
One moment on that form to look ; 
That livid cheek, and pallid brow, 
Oh ! I could not endure it now. 
But come, as when, in warmth of youth, 
We pledged our mutual love and truth ; 
And vowed, by all that lovers prize, 
Time ne'er should break those tender ties ; 
And life itself should sooner part, 
Than each loved image from the heart. 
Then come once more ; and, for a while, 
Thy presence shall my tears beguile ; 
And, in my joy, I may forget 
Tis but a dream, and clasp thee yet. 

The world's neglect, that bore thee down, 
Ne'er drew from me one angry frown ; 
And when o'erlooked by all beside, 
Thou wert my hope, my joy, my pride. 
Howe'er unworthy in their view, 
To me thou still wert kind and true ; . 
And I will to thy memory be 
As kind and true as thou to me ; 
For to the last, 'gainst others' will, 
I loved thee, and I love thee still. 

12* 



138 FIRST WEEK IN JUNE. 

E'en time, that brings to all relief, 

May sooth, but cannot cure my grief; 

For there are thoughts will not depart, 

Words that are written on the heart, 

And lines of love, so deeply traced, 

They will not, cannot be effaced. 

How fair soe'er the future scene, 

It will not be as it has been. 

The plant of love, in life's frail bower, 

Mid many leaves, bears but one flower ; 

The hand that crops that opening gem, 

Leaves but a bare and barren stem ; 

For though, in time, fresh boughs may shoot, 

And leaves put forth, they bear no fruit. 

Love only in warm bosoms thrives ; 

And, blighted once, no more revives. 



FIRST WEEK IN JUNE. 



Spring is but the child 
Of churlish Winter ; in her froward moods, 
Discovering much the temper of her sire. 

COWPER. 



In milder climes, the charms of May 
Wax wanton in the poet's lay : 
When verdure springs, and flowers unfold, 
Her praise is sung, her beauties told. 

With us, alas ! not seen so soon, 
The month of flowers is fragrant June : 



FIRST WEEK IN JUNE. 

Not sooner winter chills are fled ; 
Or, if at times unfelt, we dread 
Their quick return ; nor safe repose, 
Till June unfolds the blushing rose, 
And leads, once more, his feathery loves, 
To warble in the new clad groves ; 
Or pauses, mid the flowers, to see 
The humming bird, and honey bee, 
And scent the garden's rich delight, 
From lilac, and from hawthorn white, 
From fleur de lis, and daffadil, 
And fragrant currant's yellow bell ; 
While flowering almonds clustering twine 
With snow-ball, and with columbine, 
Mid honeysuckle's rich perfume, 
And gaudy tulip's varied bloom. 

Such opening flowers and foliage green, 
To me make spring, whenever seen ; 
The only spring, 'twixt winter's snows, 
And summer's heat, our climate knows : 
All else is bleak December's sway, 
Though cradled in the lap of May. 
Then welcome be the flowery June, 
Though slow to come, and passing soon : 
Though slow to come, yet scattering wide 
His bounties free, on every side ; 
Though parting soon, yet blithe of cheer, 
The sweetest month in all the year. 



139 



140 THE RED OAK. 

CONJUNCTION OF VENUS 
WITH THE MOON. 



Turn to the heavens thy gaze, where yonder star 
Hangs, gem-like, on the moon's pale crest : the brow 
Of lone Diana beams with sparkles now 

Of Cytherea's flame. Above the jar 

Of earth-born jealousies, they haste afar, 
The immortal sisters, oft as fates allow, 

To meet, and mingle rays. Wide o'er the plain 

They roam, rejoicing, yet return again, 

From boundless etiier ; drawn by gentle vow 

Of sisterly endearment, to renew 

This union fair, to tender feeling due. 
Talk not, misjudging ! of mechanic laws 
That guide the stars ; 'tis nobler impulse draws 

Those happy orbs, to love's attraction true. 



THE RED OAK. 



The early poets fondly deemed they dwelt 
A hamadryad in each glorious tree ; 

And who, that loves the forest, has not felt 
How meet such living dwelling-place would be 



THE RED OAK. 141 

For spirit, lulled by zephyrs, as they past, 
Or roused to transport by the roaring blast. 

Behold yon lofty oak, beside whose base 
Our puny height seems dwindled to a span ! 
And were it not, in this frail bodied man 

A spirit dwells, which widest space 

Can ne'er confine, nor thought its movements trace, 
This oak were fashioned on a nobler plan, 
And fairer formed, than aught that eye could scan 

Of outward grandeur in the human race. 



II. 



Calm rising, mid the flow of ages past, 
What generations of the world around 
This tree hath witnessed, growing mid the sound 
Of earthly passions, — joys that would not last, 
And griefs that seemed eternal, yet have cast 

No lasting shade. Here, on this rising ground, 
Alone, with no obscuring height between, 
It towers sublime, from neighbouring hamlets seen, 
A land-mark wide ! its shapely column crowned 
With graceful coronet of living green. 

Pause then, O generous axman ! nor o'erthrow 
This glory of the grove : so may the flight 
Of years fall gently on thee ; nor the blight 
Of death untimely lay thy branches low ! 



B TO T E S. 



The Abbot Jubilee, p. 47. 

These lines were written for the Festival given in honour of my old 
Preceptor, Benjamin Abbot, L.L. D. ; on his retirement from the Phillips 
Exeter Academy, after a service, in that institution, of fifty years. This 
meeting, which was attended by some of the first scholars and statesmen 
of New-England, will long be remembered, by those present, as a 
happy union of social feeling and intellectual enjoyment. 

Contemplation I, p. 57. 

The author is aware that the names of his classmates, which occur in 
this and other poems, will be, to most of his readers, little more than un- 
meaning expletives 5 since, with two exceptions, they are the names of 
persons who died young, and unknown to fame. To the author they 
stood in a different, and more interesting relation. In the most suscepti- 
ble period of life, they were efficient agents in the developement of both 
his social feelings and his mental powers. In looking back to the past, 
he finds, in the remembrance of their virtues, inspiration for his present 
undertaking, which he might not otherwise have felt. 

In pursuance of the author's general design of exhibiting, not imagina- 
ry scenes, but the thoughts and feelings excited by real occurrences, he 
could not well avoid mentioning some, at least, of the friends with whom 
he was most intimate. As several of these died, soon after leaving Col- 
lege, he has avoided the indecorum of introducing, even for the purpose 
of praise, the names of persons, whose feelings might be hurt, by such un- 
authorised intrusion on their privacy. There are among his College as- 
sociates others, still living, with whom, under different circumstances, he 
would have been happy to connect his name, in these pages. 



144 



NOTES. 



Contemplation II ; p. 58. 

Ichabod Nichols and John Farrar were the author's instructers in Ge- 
ometry and Mathematics 5 and ; if he derived little benefit from their labors, 
it was no fault of theirs, but wholly of their pupil. They have since be- 
come extensively known by their writings — Professor Farrar in his own 
department of Mathematics and Natural Philosophy, and Dr. Nichols in 
Theology. 

The Birth of Truth, p. 104. 

These lines were suggested by the following characteristic, but some- 
what coarse passage of Milton. " Truth is as impossible to be soiled, by 
any outward touch, as the sun beam. Though this ill hap wait on her 
nativity, that she never comes into the world, but, like a bastard, to the 
ignominy of him that brought her forth : till time, the midwife rather than 
the mother of truth, have washed and salted the infant, declared her le- 
gitimate, and churched the father of his young Minerva, from the needless 
causes of his purgation." 

The Centennial Celebration, p. 121. 

This piece, though standing so near the close, was among the first 
written of this collection, which grew, in a great measure, out of the 
author's thoughts and feelings, on that interesting occasion. Many per- 
sons met, at that celebration, who had not seen each other before, since 
they left College; and the contrast between the boy of 1809, and the 
man of 1836 was, in some cases, sufficiently striking. But the pain of 
perceiving that they were no longer young, was soon lost in more pleas- 
ing recollections. 



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